


Yours in Sickness

by Marwana



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Character Death (not major), Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Romance, Slash, Torture, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marwana/pseuds/Marwana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry starts to get sick, the only one who can save him is his worst enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The rights belong to J.K. Rowling and whoever owns the films!
> 
> Although the warning says 'rape' it isn't truly rape... It's hard to explain but you'll know what I mean once you've read the entire story.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Yours in Sickness.**  
  
 **Part 1**  
  
 _ **“:Parseltongue:**_ ”  
 **oOo** : a small time jump  
 **oOoOoOo** : a change in POV.  
  
 **oOoOoOo**  
  
It had all started at the beginning of his sixth year, well _around_ that time anyway.  
  
It had _actually_ started on July the 31 st, his birthday. It had been a remarkably cold day and the Dursleys had forced him to do the garden, in just a shabby T-shirt and Dudley’s old, faded, hole-filled shorts – which were luckily just over the knee for him. It had been warm enough when he has just started but a couple of hours later – when the temperature had dropped slightly and a slight drizzle had started to fall – it had been far too cold for that kind of clothing.  
  
Almost five hours after he had started on the garden – which also meant that it had been five hours since he had last eaten something – he was finally finished. By that time, he was completely soaked thanks to the rain, his stomach hurt thanks to his hunger for food and he was shivering because of the cold. It was completely normal that he had a cold after that.  
At least, that was what he thought at the time anyway.  
  
His cold had started out with just sniffing and sneezing, the normal symptoms for a completely normal cold.  
The Dursleys had blamed him for getting a cold – not that they would’ve blamed anyone else let alone themselves – and they hadn’t been willing to spend their money to buy him anything to get better. But they _had_ given him an extra blanket – which was old, smelled mouldy and was slightly damp – to make sure that he didn’t actually get _sick_.  
But it didn’t help.  
  
By the time Dumbledore came to pick him up to bring him to the Burrow – which was about two weeks after his birthday – his cold had worsened to such a degree that his nose was always running – blowing it didn’t even help anymore – and that he started to feel slightly ill. Not in such a way that he couldn’t do anything, but enough to feel weak and sleepy.  
  
Mrs. Weasley had tried to cure his cold with standard Pepper-up potions – courtesy of Madam Pomfrey – and home-made food – mostly soup – but nothing helped and the steam of the Pepper-up potion only hurt his ears and made his nose feel funny.  
After the first few failed attempts she just forced him to stay near the fire – covered by a heavy blanket and surrounded by his friends and things to entertain him with.  
  
 **oOo**  
  
By the time they were to take the train to Hogwarts, he had come down with the flu – and a bad one at that.  
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had managed to convince Dumbledore that it might be better to have Madam Pomfrey check him over before the others arrived by train and he was sent to Hogwarts early by floo.  
  
She had checked him over – at least three times to make sure that she hadn’t missed anything – but she couldn’t find anything beyond the fact that he had the flu, was slightly malnourished due to the fact that he just couldn’t force himself to eat beyond the small amount he had and had a slight fever. Normal symptoms for a normal flu.  
But everything she tried – everything from spells to potions – failed to work their magic and he stayed sick.  
  
And now, four weeks into the first semester and two weeks after he had been forced to stay permanently in the quarantine ward of the hospital wing – as they still didn’t know what was wrong with him beyond the obvious – he was bored.  
He wasn’t that sick that he couldn’t do anything.  
His fever wasn’t that high that he was really cold – just a little, but he could always wear more clothing to keep warm – and he just had a headache, slight stomach-ache and an annoying cold  – which he could ignore easily. So why was he locked away and forced to stay in bed all day?  
  
Snape came by once every two days to give him a potion in an attempt to cure whatever he had, but – while some of the potions managed to make him feel slightly better for a short while, it depended on which potion he gave him – he still hadn’t found a cure yet.  
  
The worst thing, however, was that he hadn’t been allowed to see his friends – Hell, he hadn’t even been allowed to write to them in fear that he might spread his disease – even though they had spent weeks with him while he had been sick.  
  
All he could do was read and hope that they found a cure quickly, before he died of boredom.  
  
 **oOo**  
  
It was two weeks later – six weeks after the semester had started – that Dumbledore visited him.  
It was the first time that he visited him since he had gotten ill – if one didn’t count the day that he dropped him off at the Burrow – and the first thing Harry noticed was the blackened right hand and the big, ancient-looking ring he wore on a chain around his neck.  
The second thing he noticed was that he seemed to feel slightly better as soon as the headmaster neared his bed, his headache seemed to be fading until it was just a very dull throbbing, his stomach-ache seemed to disappear altogether and his coughing and sneezing seemed to diminish until he only sneezed or coughed every minute instead of every ten seconds. All in all, it was a strange and wonderful reprieve from his annoying flue.  
  
“What happened to you hand?” he asked curiously as soon as Dumbledore sat down next to him.  
“Nothing for you to concern yourself over, my dear boy,” he said genially as he carefully slid the wide end of his sleeve over his hand, “just an old man’s slow reflexes.”  
Silence fell as Madam Pomfrey entered his room and handed him one of the few potions which made him feel temporarily better.  
  
“How do you feel?” Dumbledore asked seriously as soon as she left.  
“Quite well actually,” Harry answered, “I feel better then I felt in days.”  
“That’s good to hear, my boy,” Dumbledore said, a pleased smile on his wizened face, “now, about your schooling: we’ve decided that miss Granger, together with our resident headboy and headgirl will help you with the subjects you’ve missed before they will help you understand the subjects your teachers are treating on the moment.”  
Harry must nodded in understanding and Dumbledore left soon after.  
  
Strangely enough, his flu reappeared just as fast as it had disappeared.  
  
 **oOo**  
  
But three months after that conversation everything turned out to be far worse than they had expected. Harry was far too ill to do anything but lay in the bed and sleep and rest and nothing they tried helped anymore, not even Snape’s experimental potions.  
The weird thing was that every time Dumbledore visited he did feel better but neither Madam Pomfrey or Snape understood why.  
The latter had finally stopped sneering and snarling at him two months into the semester when he found out just why he had gotten sick in the first place but that was the only positive thing that had happened to him so far.  
  
Dumbledore on the other hand had started to visit him more often in which he would regard him with weird, unreadable looks. Besides that he had started to ask questions about when he had gotten sick and how his scar had felt since he had gotten sick.  
The strangest thing was that he had started to bring him valuable trinkets which actually made him feel slightly better. An ancient looking – but still beautiful – diadem now lay in a magical protected box on his bedside and an oddly shaped locket hung around his neck.  
A weird note had been inside it when he had opened it but Harry had been far too ill to care and Dumbledore had taken it away.  
  
 **oOoOoOo**  
  
Something had changed but he didn’t quite knew what.  
It felt… _similar_ to something he had felt before but he couldn’t quite remember what. Something niggled in the back of his mind meaning that whatever it was that he couldn’t remember was _important_.  
Now if he only could remember what _it_ was.  
  
His red eyes narrowed as he contemplated what it could mean.  
He was quite sure that he didn’t have important plans planned that should take place in the winter, nor did he need to find some important or ancient item.  
So that meant that it had something to do with him personally. The only thing he could think of was either he himself or his horcru- His eyes widened as he suddenly knew what he felt and what it meant.  
  
A couple of years (two and a bit to be exactly) after he had turned Nagini into a horcrux the body of his faithful snake had started to fall apart. Apparently a body could survive when it had less than one soul, but not when it had _more_ than one soul.  
Her own natural magic – as if he would have chosen a non-magical snake as a vessel for his soul – had protected her up until that point but after a while something had changed – probably her feeding him some of her magic so he could possess a larger animal – and her magic couldn’t keep her safe anymore.  
  
His eyes narrowed again as he conjured the image of all of his horcruxes in his mind. Not one of them – besides Nagini – had a living being as its vessel. So why did he have the feeling that one of the vessels was falling apart?  
  
He decided that he would check upon his horcruxes as soon as he could before he dismissed that particular thought process – and the feeling.  
  
 **oOo**  
  
He had called for Snape twice in ten minutes now and the hook-nosed potion master still failed to arrive.  
He pressed his wand against the bared mark on Wormtail’s arm for the third time – enjoying the rush of power it gave him and the expression and mew of pain the rat-like man couldn’t hide – before he pressed it against his arm once again for good measures.  
  
A soft pop almost five minutes later alerted him to the arrival of his wayward Death Eater turned spy and he immediately turned his wand towards the source of the sound.  
“ _Crucio_!” he snarled and he watched in grim satisfaction as the man sank to his knees and screamed as the curse hit him.  
  
“I hope you have a very good reason for being late, Severus,” he said softly, _maliciously_ – his voice sibilant and cold – as he lifted the curse of the greasy haired spy. Nagini hissed softly at the man before she rested her head back on his shoulder.  
“I do, My Lord,” the man answered, his voice not even showing the slightest amount of the pain he should be feeling, as he climbed back onto his feet remarkably steadily, “Dumbledore had me brewing potions for Potter.”  
“Wormtail, leave!” Voldemort barked and the sniffling rat fled the room visibly grateful, “what kind of potions?”  
“Potter is ill,” Snape said, a blank look on his face, “and it’s unknown what he has. Dumbledore has me brewing new, experimental potions which should cure him.”  
  
Voldemort just stared at him, lost in his thoughts and memories. Potter being sick with some unknown illness was… fortunate. But he had the sinking feeling that he knew why.  
  
He and Nagini shared a mind link – meaning that he could access her mind and that he could possess her – and that he could make her feel whatever he wanted to feel by means of using his limited range of emotions – the only ones he knew were the ones he experienced: sadness, loneliness, longing, hope, want, jealousy, hatred, hunger for knowledge and power, satisfaction, disgust, pleasure, care, happiness, madness, anger and desire.  
  
But he was also aware that he could access the boy’s  mind – he had given him a fake vision last year that ended with the death of one of the light’s staunchest follower – and that he could make the boy feel pain when he thought about him or touched him and that the boy could access _his_ mind even though he had some of the best Occlumency shields in existence.  
  
All of this added only to the feeling of dread he still felt – even after he had checked upon his horcruxes and found three missing, Lucius probably still felt the pain of the Cruciatus curse days after he had cursed him in his anger  – and the only conclusion he could come up with was that he had somehow turned the boy into a horcrux.  
  
He had two options now.  
One, he could secure the horcrux and keep the boy as some kind of pet or slave.  
Or two, he could let the boy die – which meant the destruction of his horcrux – and have one less enemy to defeat. This option was appealing as it also meant that he took the wizarding world’s one hope to win the war and the poster boy of the light side.  
But he had already lost three horcruxes and he rather liked being – and staying – immortal. Besides, it would be such a heavy blow to the wizarding world and the light side – especially Dumbledore – if he were to show of the boy as his pet.  
  
“Severus, tell me everything you know about his conditions,” he commanded the man as soon as his mind was made up.  
“He is sick, nothing I tried works,” the dour man told him and Voldemort shot a mild pain curse at him.  
“That was not what I asked, now was it?” he asked him cruelly and Nagini raised her head and hissed menacingly at the potions master in respond to his mood.  
“No, My Lord,” Snape said, “the boy has a high fever, coughs and sneezes a lot, has a stomach ache and throws up, can’t stomach food, he has diarrhoea, he throws up blood – which also leaks from his eyes and nose at random intervals – and both his urine and his faeces contain blood.”  
“His body is falling apart,” the Dark Lord concluded.  
Severus didn’t react but he didn’t have to.  
  
“What is Dumbledore doing to safe his boy wonder?” Voldemort asked curiously and Nagini – reacting to his emotions – leaned her head forward.  
“He gave him… trinkets,” Severus told him hesitant.  
“Trinkets? What kind of trinkets?” Voldemort asked  sharply and Nagini reared back.  
“A locket, a ring and a diadem,” Snape answered almost confused.  
“Show me!” Voldemort demanded and he raised his wand until it was just centimetres away from the dour man’s nose, “NOW!”  
  
 **oOo**  
  
It was halfway February when they finally acted. Dumbledore had been desperate enough to let Snape take the boy somewhere – Snape had apparently told Dumbledore that he knew of a magic plant that could cure almost everything, the major drawbacks: it was very rare (it apparently only grew in one place in Europe) and the boy had to ingest the leaves as soon as he had harvested them for them to do their magic – and Snape had brought him and his horcruxes straight to the manor he used as his headquarters.  
  
Once there he had ordered the dour potions master to lay him on a bed in one of the many rooms the manor held before he had commanded the man to leave.  
Nagini had almost immediately joined the boy on the bed and together they studied his once greatest enemy.  
  
The boy appeared to be even more sick than that he had seemed to be in Snape’s memories and he was pale, wraithlike thin and too small for the clothes he was wearing. The sheer size of the bed only dwarfed him further.  
His breathing was erratic and shallow and it sounded raspy and wheezily as he inhaled and exhaled through his mouth.  
Every couple of seconds his body was wreaked by heavy coughs and multiple small trails of blood leaked from his mouth, his ears and his eyes.  
  
Next to him and on his body laid his horcruxes – the ring was on a necklace around the boy’s neck, as was Slytherin’s Locket and the diadem laid next to him.  
  
Nagini’s tongue flicked out of her mouth and back a couple of times before she said, **_“:He smells like you, master. You, death and decay.:”_**  
 ** _“:Does he now?:”_** Voldemort responded absently as he kept his gaze on the boy.  
 ** _“:Will you save him?:”_** his faithful snake asked.  
 ** _“:Yes, I will,:”_** he answered her as his gaze connected with hers.  
 ** _“:Like you saved me?:”_** she asked.  
  
He ignored her question as he drew his wand and pointed it at the boy.  
“ _Enervate_ ,” he said softly and the boy opened his eyes slowly and drowsily. The normally lively, fiery green eyes were now glassy, dull and filled with the pain the boy felt and it was very clear that the boy wasn’t aware of what was happening around him.  
 ** _“:Death is upon him, master,:”_** the snake hissed softly from her perch next to the boy before she uncoiled herself, slipped of the bed and slithered towards the door where she stopped and remarked, ****_“:you must be quick if you want to safe him.:”_  
She left the room through one of the many small holes the manor had, leaving him alone with the decaying and dying form of his accidental horcrux.  
  
“It seems that it’s just the two of us now,” he mused as he neared the bed and carefully touched the burning face of the boy.  
The boy keened softly in pain and made to move away from him but he just raised his other hand and kept the boy’s face between his hands as he made his way onto the bed.  
“Lets save you, shall we?” he muttered cruelly and a dark smirk appeared on his lips.


	2. Part 2

**Yours in Sickness. _  
  
_Part 2 _  
  
“:Parseltongue:”_**  
 **oOo** : a small time jump  
 **oOoOoOo** : a change in POV.  
  
 **oOoOoOo  
**  
When Harry woke up it was to the smell of hot soup, the warmth and softness of the bed he was laying on, the cool metal of the trinkets Dumbledore had brought him and the feeling of disorientation of waking up after a very long time.  
  
He immediately noticed that he felt… _better_ , still weak – he was sure that even a new born kitten could defeat him at the moment – and sore like Hell all over but the flu seemed the have disappeared.  
  
He stretched languidly only to wince as the stiff muscles were forced to work before he rested his sore body on the bed again, briefly enjoying the pleasure of feeling the texture of the soft covers against his naked skin. Wait… naked skin? Soft covers?  
He slowly opened his eyes only to groan softly as the bright light assaulted his eyes and he quickly closed them again.  
  
He carefully opened them again and narrowed them until he found the glare of the light fading and his surrounding sharpening. He slowly and gingerly sat up – the covers pooling around his naked waist as he did – after which he picked up his glasses from the night table so he could study his surroundings.  
The bed he was laying on was a huge – easily king-sized – four poster bed and  it was covered with thick, green covers. It had heavy black curtains – which were opened on the moment – and snakes and mythological creatures decorated the four posters of the bed.  
  
The rest of the room was mostly… barren. There were three doors leading to for him unknown destinations, a hearth was built into one of the four walls and there was one night table which had held his glasses. But that was it.  
The walls themselves were a very dark blue – though not dark enough to appear black – and were decorated with green and red fleur-de-lis.  
  
All considered he concluded that the room was too rich to belong in Hogwarts – though is seemed just as old – which made him wonder where he was.  
He conjured images of all wizarding places he had ever been, before discarding them all. Not one of them was this rich or this old – not even Grimmauld Place.  
  
The snakes and mythological creatures helped him somewhat as it showed that it was the home of a family that went back to at least the Classicism and the colour scheme meant that it was at least a family whom had had money for quite some time.  
  
A soft hissing sound snapped him out of his ponderings and he carefully turned towards the sound, only to freeze as he came face to face with a large cobra-like snake, its hood flared open. Its tongue shot out, once, twice before it closed its hood and lowered its head.  
  
 ** _“:You should eat,:”_** it told him as it cocked its head towards the general direction of the nightstand. Harry shifted slight, still wary of losing the snake out of his eyesight and sought for the soup he had smelled earlier.  
In the end he had to turn away from it to grab the soup from an elevated serving tray of the ground.  
He turned back to it as quick as he could with a bowl of soup in his hands and his extremely stiff and sore muscles.  
  
He slowly started to eat the soup – too hungry and too relieved that he was feeling better that he didn’t even care that the soup could be poisoned or laced with potions – his eyes on the way too large snake all the while.  
After a couple of seconds of staring the snake turned around and slithered of the bed before it disappeared through a hole in the wall that Harry hadn’t seen before.  
  
It was several minutes and a few spoons of soup later that he had enough and he placed the still nearly full bowl back onto the tray before he laid back down, too tired to do something else.  
  
 **oOo  
**  
The next time he woke up was to a soft conversation, in _parseltongue_.  
His eyes flew open and he shot up as fast as he could only to groan softly as his muscles protested against the movement and a pounding headache made itself known. He flopped down again and closed his eyes, defeated.  
He was probably still too weak to do much more than stay awake for a couple of minutes, sit up and eat anyway.  
  
Someone made a soft tsk-ing sound.  
 ** _“:If I had wanted to kill you, I would have let your ‘illness’ finish you off,:”_** a cold voice hissed, **_“:now open your eyes and look at me!:”_**  
Harry wondered briefly what would happen if he disobeyed the clear command.  
 ** _“:That I have yet to kill you doesn’t mean that I’m above hurting you,:”_** the cold voice continued as if its owner had read his mind.  
He reluctantly opened his eyes and looked up towards the owner of the voice and the only other known parseltongue.  
  
Voldemort hadn’t changed a bit from the last time he had seen the snake-man – which had been at the end of his fifth year, just after Sirius had died – accept that he had some kind of odd, satisfied gleam in his eyes. He was lounging in an armchair that hadn’t been there before, a large snake which Harry recognized from the graveyard and his dreams was draped around him.  
  
 ** _“:I’m sure that you are curious why you are here,:”_** he said in the same cold and distant tone as before, **_“:and still alive and mostly… healthy.:”_**  
“Something like that yes,” Harry muttered as he suppressed a yawn, aware that the man probably would – and could – hurt him if he thought that he wasn’t paying enough attention.  
 ** _“:Parseltongue!:”_** the man spat at him in the mentioned language, **_“:I’m aware that you’re a parselmouth so use it!:”_**  
Harry stared at the man for a couple of seconds before he grudgingly said, **_“:fine.:”_**  
  
Voldemort nodded in satisfaction before he continued, **_“:good. Have you ever heard of a horcrux?:”_**  
Harry shook his head as he suppressed another, bigger yawn.  
 ** _“:Pity,:”_** Voldemort said but he sounded as if he had expected as much, **_“:I’ll bring you some books as soon as you wake up again. For now: sleep!:”_**  
  
With that he rose – the snake still draped around him – and with one last glance towards him he strode out of the room through the middle door, which opened and closed automatic for him.  
  
Harry stared after him, not quite sure what he should think about that confrontation, before he realised that during his conversation with the man his scar hadn’t acted up. Not even once.  
  
 **oOo**  
  
The books – together with a note – lay on the nightstand when he woke up again.  
There were seven books and all of them had some kind of marker inside of them that – according to the note – marked the chapter he should read.  
  
In the end he managed to read three of the books before he fell asleep again.  
  
 **oOo  
**  
It was a couple of days after he had finished reading the books and he was… _confused_. The books – all of them – had mentioned something about soul magic and something called horcruxes – the same thing Voldemort had mentioned – but he wasn’t quite sure what the man’s purpose was by letting him read the books.  
  
The books had explained that the soul was what made the body ‘alive’ – without a soul the body was just another lifeless thing – and that a lack of guilt after certain ‘activities’ like murder, rape and torture could rip one’s soul to pieces. Though murder was the easiest way to rip a piece of one’s soul.  
  
Apparently a horcrux was made if one were to put a ‘loose’ part of the soul in an object that did _not_ contain a soul. For a body – _any_ body – couldn’t contain more than one soul before it started to fall apart.  
That last part was only mentioned in _one_ book and the only part he had been able to read had been the part that mentioned the soul. But the handwriting had been familiar and he suspected that Voldemort had written it himself.  
  
But the question why he had given him the books remained.  
He furrowed his brows as he tried to piece all the parts of the puzzle together. He knew that he was not like Hermione – who seemed to remember everything she read – or a young Tom Riddle – as he was not quite sure if Voldemort still counted – who had been a genius in every way possible, but he was sure that even he could piece the clues together.  
  
Voldemort had mentioned the word ‘horcrux’ just after he had asked him – kinda – if he wanted to know why he was in his… house and why he was still alive.  
A horcrux normally contained a sliver of someone’s soul and made that person immortal – sort of, anyway. A horcrux could possess people and use their magic and life force to form a new body –killing the person it possessed while doing so.  
His mind shot towards the diary he had destroyed in his second year. It had possessed Ginny and it had sucked her life force and magic away. It did sound like it had been a horcrux, Voldemort’s _first_ horcrux to be exact as the ‘memory’ had been about sixteen years old.  
  
So Voldemort had had a horcrux… Than why did he mention it? Unless, of course, he wasn’t aware that it had been destroyed. Or was there something else?  
  
Voldemort had mentioned during his resurrection that he had gone further than anyone else. Did that mean that he had more than one horcrux?  
If so, what why should he care beyond the fact that he had found Voldemort’s way to stay immortal?  
  
His mind shot towards the other thing he had read. A body couldn’t contain more than one soul, otherwise it would fall apart. He had been sick with no way to get better and Voldemort had somehow healed him in what appeared to be less than… he had no idea what the date was but he had the feeling that it hadn’t taken too long for the man to heal him.  
Did that mean…? His mind rebelled against the very idea as he struggled to deal with the conclusion he had reached.  
  
In the end he did the only thing he could do in such a situation. He fainted.  
  
 **oOo**  
  
The next time he woke up he felt, once again, disorientated. His soreness seemed to have disappeared altogether – though he was still weak – and he wasn’t sick anymore, so why did he feel like he had been hit with something hard?  
  
He opened his eyes and carefully sat up, only to see the books on his nightstand. His mind immediately supplied what had happened and he couldn’t help but groan as he remembered the conclusion he had reached before he had fainted.  
  
He closed his eyes again as his mind supplied him with what it meant. He carried a part of Voldemort’s soul with him. No, even worse, _he_ was one of the reasons why Voldemort was immortal.  
  
 ** _“:I see you’ve reached the right conclusion,:”_** Voldemort’s voice sounded from the opposite direction from where he was looking at, **_“:didn’t take you as long as I had expected.:”_**  
Harry turned towards him – Voldemort was once again sitting next to his bed – and glared at him but Voldemort seemed as unfazed as ever.  
 ** _“:I’m sure that you know what that means,:”_** the snake-man continued as if nothing had happened.  
 ** _“:Can’t say I do,:”_** Harry groused, almost hopeful that it had something to do with the man killing him. Because _that_ would just be ironic.  
 ** _“:No, it had nothing to do with me killing you,:”_** the Dark Lord told him.  
 ** _“:Stop reading my mind!:”_** Harry yelped at him but the man just shot him a look as he continued.  
  
 ** _“:Sadly enough, it means that I’ll have to keep you safe,:”_** he told him, **_“: which means that there are a couple of ru- :”_**  
 ** _“:Er… wait, I’ve a question!:”_** Harry interrupted him, only to hiss in pain as he was hit with a mild stinging curse – courtesy of the man sitting next to his bed.  
  
 ** _“:Do not interrupt me!:”_** the man hissed angrily before he said calmly, **_“:now, ask your question.:”_**  
Harry wondered briefly if the man had mood swings but another stinging curse made him yelp.  
 ** _“:Stop that!,:”_** he muttered, **_“:how did you cure me and did you cure me permanently or will I get sick again?:”_**  
 ** _“:There are two possible permanent cures but neither will be possible for you,:”_** he was told.  
 ** _“:Why not? What are those cures?:”_** he demanded to know.  
 ** _“:The first one involves ripping a part of your soul away. And I highly doubt that you’re willing to murder someone,:”_** Voldemort told him flatly, **_“:and I’m not willing to use the second one.:”_**  
 ** _“:What is it?:”_** Harry asked curious but Voldemort ignored him.  
  
 ** _“:And how I cured you…,:”_** Voldemort continued before he leered at him, a dark and dangerous smirk around his mouth and a strange glint in his eyes, **_“:you’ll find out eventually.:”_**  
Harry shivered slightly in fright and quickly changed the subject.  
  
 ** _“:The rules?:”_** he asked.  
 ** _“:I’ll leave them here with you as I’ve written them down,:”_** the man told him, **_“:that way I’m sure you know them, especially as I know you tendencies to break the rules.:”_**  
And with that he rose from his seat and loft the room.  
  
 **oOoOoOo**  
  
It was a couple of weeks later that he let the boy finally leave his rooms.  
The boy was almost completely cured – though he would never be cured completely – and he was once again strong enough to walk around and do whatever it was the boy wanted to do, as long as it wasn’t against his rules.  
  
The boy had been restricted to certain chambers – to make sure some of his more eager followers wouldn’t kill the boy and because the boy _was_ his prisoner – but he had access to the library, a duelling chamber – not that he had given the boy a wand – and some other rooms.  
  
Voldemort stared at the boy – who had made himself comfortable in a chair in the library – as he contemplated the boy’s _illness_. He knew that the child was magical strong enough to fight the effects of having more than a soul in his body – he had done so for more than fifteen year after all – but he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take before the boy would start to get sick again.  
  
He had to feed Nagini some of his blood at least once a week – as he couldn’t cure her at all – to make sure that she stayed healthy.  
But the boy was far more powerful and would gain even more power after he had turned seventeen – the last milestone in the growth of a witch or wizard’s magic core. So how often did he have to ‘cure’ the boy? And when would the next time be?  
  
He wondered briefly about the reason why the boy had gotten sick _now_ and not when he had been younger.   
A witch or a wizard had four milestones in the growth of his or her core. The first one was when they were a couple of months old to a couple of years old and was marked with the first time a child used accidental magic. The second one was when a child turned eleven after which the child should have enough control over its core to practice active magic – though stronger wizards or witches were able to do active magic before they turned eleven. The third milestone was when the child turned fourteen years old after which the use of accidental magic should stop. The last milestone was when a child turned seventeen after which the growth of a child’s magical core would stop and the child was officially considered an adult.  
  
The first phase started when a child was born, the second phase started when the child was about nine, the third phase started when the child was thirteen and the last phase started when the child turned sixteen.  
  
So that meant that the boy was almost as powerful as he was as he would’ve needed a lot of power to make sure his core kept growing _and_ to keep his body healthy. So what had happened to make him ill during the last phase?  
The only things he could think of was that someone had placed some kind of block on the child’s magic – which was a) impossible and b) improbable as the boy would have gotten sick earlier if that was the case – or the boy had been using a lot of magic for something else recently.  
  
His eyes widened as he realised what the boy had been doing that needed a lot of magic: he hadn’t been able to access the boy’s mind since just after the boy’s godfather had died and he was quite sure that the boy was _not_ an occlumens.   
On the boy’s sixteenth birthday his magic had been low because it had to adjust the body to make sure it could handle more magic. The amount of magic left had probably been too low to make sure the too large amount of soul would make the body fall apart and the boy’s body had started to fall apart.  
And the day after he had turned sixteen – when his magic levels had turned back to normal – it had been too late and the boy had gotten sick.  
  
A soft rustling made his attention snap towards the boy and he seized him up.  
 ** _“:How do you feel?:”_** he asked him after a couple of seconds.  
The boy lowered the book slightly and stared at him, **_“:fine.:”_**  
 ** _“:Good,:”_** Voldemort said shortly, **_“:there will be Death Eater meeting tonight and you’ll attend.:”_**  
The boy’s nose wrinkled in distaste and flashes of hate filled glares and curses sent towards the boy as he was forced to bow down flashed through the boy’s mind.  
A lipless smile appeared around his mouth, **_“:you won’t attend in this form.:”_**  
  
Confusion flashed through the boy’s mind and he said, **_“:I’m sure you’ve researched animagi.:”_**  
The boy nodded.  
 ** _“:Than you know how long it takes to become one and how dangerous it is,:”_** he continued and the boy nodded again.  
 ** _“:There is a second way, one that had been forgotten for quite some time,:”_** Voldemort said and he felt a smirk pull at his lips, **_“:the only thing one has to do is to make sure there is some who knows the spell and the Animagus revelio spell to make sure when turns into his or her animal form and back to their human form.:”  
_**  
 ** _“:Er… okay. What does this have to do with me attending one of your followers’ meetings?:”_** the boy asked, clearly confused before he ducked to avoid a stinging cure he sent towards him.  
 ** _“:You’ll be attending in your animal form,:”_** he told him, a dark smirk no doubt around his lips.  
 ** _“:But I don’t know what it is!:”_** the boy protested as he rose in an attempt to get away from him. It seemed as if the boy had figured it out.  
 ** _“:Ah, the positive part of this spell is that that isn’t necessary!:”_** he told him as he drew his wand, **_“: Animagus Conversus.:”_**  
  
A dark purple spell hit the boy – who tried to duck but failed to get away from the spell – and he watched in morbid curiosity how the boy’s arm and legs shrunk to small, weird angled legs – apparently he was some kind of four legged creature – how his fingernails elongated to long, sharp claws which seemed long and sharp enough to rip things to pieces and his hands turned to paws, how the boy’s upper body elongated until it was about one and a half times as long as it had been, how his neck and head changed until it resembled that of a large lizard, how his pupils turned into slits and his eyes a sickly yellow, how the boy’s teeth turned sharp and into fangs, how his ears and hair disappeared into his head, how the boy’s tongue turned into that of a snake – forked and long – how the boy grew a large, thick tail and how his skin turned into dull, brownish black scales.  
  
After a while – Voldemort suspected that it had taken some 10 minutes – the boy had finally stopped changing and where once stood a human on two feet now stood a large, brownish black lizard on four feet. Its tongue flicked out of his mouth and its eyes narrowed into a glare as soon as it had found him.  
He kept his wand trained on the creature as he tried to figure out _what_ it actually was.  
  
It was definitely a lizard but it had the tongue of serpent, had long and sharp claws, its build was that of a clumsy, slow creature, its tail was about as long as its upper body and it was long – it probably reached ten feet. Its skin appeared to be hard and strong enough to protect it against attacks and the fangs – which the boy showed every time the tongue flicked out of his mouth – were sharp and the jaw seemed to be strong enough to rip pieces of flesh away from its prey.  
  
There was only one creature who could match what the boy had become: a komodo dragon.  
Voldemort frowned as he studied the muggle version of a dragon. He knew that komodo dragons were fast, long, strong and flexible. They were skilled and fast hunters that hunted everything they met – including humans – but they laid in ambushes before the actual hunt and ate like snakes. They could eat their own weight in one single meal and – because their ingestion was so slow – they only needed a couple of meals a month.  
He wasn’t aware if a komodo dragon was poisonous but he was not about to test it.  
  
All in all, he had to admit that it surprised him that the boy – whom he had believed to be the epitome of Gryffindorness and fluffiness – was such as dangerous and snakelike creature as a komodo dragon.  
  
A hissing sound came from the boy turned creature’s mouth and he smirked as he said, **_“:such a Slytherin creature you turned into. Are you sure that you are a Gryffindor?:”_**  
The hissing turned into growling and the boy’s tail swept from left to right, hitting the bookshelves which quavered under the assault of the dangerously strong tail.  
  
 **oOoOoOo  
**  
That _bastard_ had turned him into some kind of _lizard_! They both knew that he should have been a lion or something like that, not this _mockery_ of a dinosaur.  
He growled again to show his displeasure with his new form and he lashed out hard with his tail towards the throne like chair Voldemort was seated in. The chair groaned under the assault but Voldemort stayed as expressionless as before.  
  
After a couple of hard lashes in which the chair did _not_ collapse – Harry was sure that the bastard had charmed the chair to be unbreakable – he stopped his assault and relaxed back onto the large pillow. It was just a bit larger than he was, about twelve feet long and five feet wide, and it was warm enough to keep _him_ warm. He was coldblooded now and the floor of the gigantic room he had been forced to walk on before had been far too cold for his liking.  
Luckily Voldemort had realised this because otherwise he would have either sought out a warm spot or – if that failed – he would have bitten the man.  
  
Soft pops sounded and the first Death Eaters arrived in a flurry of black robes. They all kneeled down as soon as they entered the gigantic room they were situated in and crawled towards Voldemort to kiss the hem of his robes.  
Harry hissed and growled at them as soon as they came too close for his liking and with strangled gasps they drew back, the smell of fear heavy in the air.  
  
More pops sounded and more Death Eaters appeared in the room and it didn’t take long before utter chaos ruled in the room.  
The new Death Eaters tried to reach their lord to pay the proper respect – he couldn’t help but snort at that – while the Death Eaters in the front tried to get away from him.  
  
Harry had to admit that it was pretty amusing to see the chaos in front of him and he snapped at quite a few people who came too close while they struggled to get away from him.  
Who knew that being some kind of lizard could be this much fun.  
  
It was quite a shame that Voldemort quickly called for order in the chaos and that the Death Eaters obeyed him almost immediately as the rest of the meeting was beyond boring.  
  
Harry spent the rest of the time either sleeping or watching different Death Eaters until they started to squirm.  
  
 **oOo**  
  
It was a couple of weeks later and Harry had been forced to attend four more Death Eater meetings while being a komodo dragon. The only good thing he found out during the meetings was that the Death Eaters really feared him – well, his Animagus form anyway – and that the Order of the Phoenix was searching for him.  
  
But that was the only good thing that had happened during those weeks as he was still locked away in the same rooms with only Voldemort – and he had to admit that the man could be nice company if he wanted to – and some snakes as company.  
Voldemort had even started to teach him magic and subjects like ancient runes and other subjects he had been able to choose in his third year but hadn’t. He had even continued teaching him Care for Magical Creatures even though it was clear that he didn’t like the subject.  
Besides that he had to spent quite some time as a komodo dragon – which wasn’t as bad as he had thought it would be.  
  
But the worst thing was that he was starting to get sick – again – and he was not quite sure if he wanted to know how Voldemort had temporarily cured him last time.  
  
He could either tell Voldemort now and hope that it could be cured by something simple or he could wait, get sicker and be forced to stay in _one_ single room. Again.  
  
In the end he decided on telling Voldemort, just so he could keep some of his freedom.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “:Parseltongue:”  
> oOo: a small time jump  
> oOoOoOo: a change in POV.

Voldemort looked up from his newest plan for a raid as soon as he felt the boy’s magical signature near his office.  
He drew his wand and flicked it and the door opened to admit the boy. Normally he wouldn’t allow anyone to enter his office as it was _his_ but this was the first time the boy sought him out and he had to admit that he was curious as to _why_ the boy wanted to see him.  
  
The boy slowly entered his office and his eyes flashed everywhere. It was clear that the boy was nervous about something – which was probably the reason why he was in his office.  
  
 ** _“:Yes?:”_** Voldemort hissed as he sat back in his chair and the boy’s green eyes – no longer obscured by glasses – snapped towards him.  
 ** _“:Er… well… I…,:”_** the boy stuttered.  
 ** _“:Either tell me, have me rip it out of your mind or leave!:”_** Voldemort told him, annoyed by the boy’s behaviour.  
 ** _“:I’mstartingtogetsickagain!:”_** the boy hissed out without breathing.  
 ** _“:Repeat that, slowly!:”_** Voldemort commanded as he stood and approached the boy.  
The boy gulped and repeated softly, his eyes downcast, **_“:I’m starting to get sick again.:”_**  
  
Voldemort stopped right in front of him and studied him. The boy was pale and he had large, black bags under his eyes. The muscles around his eyes kept flexing in such a way that indicated that the boy had a headache and the boy was sniffing and coughing slightly. Two small unnatural red dots on his cheeks showed that he had a slight fever. He deduced quickly that the boy couldn’t have been sick for more than a couple of days.  
All in all, it was clear that the boy spoke the truth, his body was starting to fall apart again.  
  
Voldemort grasped the boy’s chin and lifted it so he could meet his eyes.  
 ** _“:How long?:”_** he demanded.  
 ** _“:A couple of days,:”_** the boy answered him reluctantly. Like he had guessed.  
 ** _“:And you didn’t tell me as soon as you felt ill because…?:”_** Voldemort asked as he glared at the boy. The boy just squirmed and tried to get his chin free but he squeezed harder and the boy relaxed in his grip with a huff.  
  
 ** _“:I told you now, didn’t I!:”_** the boy stated annoyed.  
 ** _“:Next time, come to me as soon as you feel sick!:”_** he growled as he gave one last squeeze, **_“:now, to cure you…:”_**  
  
He shifted closer and pressed his lipless mouth hard against the boy’s slightly plump lips after which he forcibly pushed his tongue inside the boy’s mouth.  
The boy squirmed against him to get away as he devoured his mouth so he moved the hand that held the boy’s chin towards the back of the boy’s head to keep it in place while he raised his other arm and wrapped it around the boy’s waist to keep the boy from moving beyond slight movements.  
  
The kiss – if it could be called a kiss – was hard and rough and he could taste the boy’s blood. He was surprised that the boy hadn’t tried to bite his tongue yet but the emotions – mostly confusion, panic and fear – coming from the boy’s side of the link explained a lot.  
  
But even though he was ruthless and could quickly subdue the boy’s own tongue he skilfully teased it into participating. It wasn’t about pleasure, it was about showing who was in charge and it was about healing. He wasn’t cruel though and he didn’t use his tongue and teeth to hurt or torture the boy as he would probably need to use this method of ‘healing’ quite a lot if it worked. And he wanted the boy to come to him when – not if, never if– he started to get sick again.  
  
With one last stroke along the boy’s tongue he retracted his own tongue back into his own mouth, released the boy and sat back down behind his desk as if nothing had happened.  
The boy just stood there, dazed and panting for air.  
 ** _“:You should feel better by tomorrow,:”_** he told him before he turned back to his plans, **_“:now, I suggest you  go read the book I gave you.:”_**  
  
The boy, still dazed, breathless, panicking and clearly in the state of mind which made him want to flee, did as he was told and quickly fled his office.  
Voldemort stared in amusement after the boy’s retreating form before he took his wand and flicked it to lock his office.  
He flicked his wand again and one of the many drawers of the bureau clicked open. He took a thick, leather book out of the drawer and opened it on the last page before he placed it in front of him on top of his paperwork.  
  
He dipped his quill in the ink and – after casting a _Tempus_ and checking the time and date – carefully wrote it down, followed by the word ‘ _saliva_ ’.  
He cast another spell on the book to dry the ink before he placed the book back in the drawer and spelled the drawer shut again.  
  
 **oOoOoOo**  
  
Harry wasn’t quite sure what to think. Voldemort had just given him his first real kiss – as he didn’t exactly count the kiss with Cho as a kiss.  
His mind reeled at the very idea.  
‘Voldemort’ and ‘kiss’ didn’t belong in the same sentence, ever. His mind still had trouble comprehending it and that was the only reason why he didn’t stomp back towards Voldemort’s office and jell and scream at him for forcing that _thing_ on him.  
  
He had been confused of course, when Voldemort had told him that he would cure him as he didn’t even go for his wand. But then he had pressed his lips against his and forced his tongue inside his mouth. He could readily admit to himself that he panicked. Badly.  
He had never truly been kissed before and whenever he dreamed – or daydreamed – about kissing someone it always involved a _girl_. A beautiful, curvy, soft _girl_ with long flowing hair he could bury his hands in. Not a bald, old, aggressive _male_ with hard muscles who was in need of anger management and who had the need to dominate everything around him and mood swings worse than a pregnant female.  
  
He dropped his head on the opened book – which he was supposed to read – on the table with a soft thud before he raised his head and tried to read, emphasis on _tried_. After a minute of ten – in which he had read and reread the same sentence over and over again and in which his mind had kept wandering towards the kiss – he dropped his head on the opened book again and groaned loudly. Yeah, he was so screwed.  
  
After hitting his head a few times on the book in an attempt to distract himself – or to beat the horrible memory out of his head – he gave up and lifted his head from the book as he tried to channel what he liked to call his ‘inner Hermione’. Voldemort had told him that he would cure him before he had kissed him. After the kiss, he had stated that he should feel better in a day. Did that mean that the kiss was supposed to heal him?  
  
How was a kiss supposed to do that? He had read some fairy tales when he was younger – the school library used to have them and that just happened to be the only place that Dudley _wouldn’t_ enter – and they always mentioned ‘love’s true kiss’ or something along those lines. But he doubted that _that_ was what Voldemort had in mind. He truly hoped so because those stories always involved a ‘happy ever after’ and he didn’t _want_ his ‘happy ever after’ to be with Voldemort. He rather married _Draco Malfoy_ than Voldemort. And that was a horrible idea of itself.  
  
Besides, he doubted that Voldemort even knew what love was supposed to feel like. Not that he was an expert on the matter… but that was not the point.  
  
He wondered what Hermione would make of it.  
  
His mind sprung towards his friends just like that – something which he had tried to avoid for weeks as it would only depress him. How were they? Were they still searching for him? Were Hermione and Ron finally together? Was Luna still bullied? How was Neville’s practical work now that he had his own wand? He suddenly missed them fiercely – even more fiercely than he normally did – and he wished he could just go to them.  
He buried his face in his hands. He missed them al so very much; Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Hogwarts, the students – even the Slytherins – and the teachers and staff – even _Snape_ and Filch. He missed the beautiful environment, laughing and joking with his House, playing Quidditch, the many wondrous magical feats of magic daily seen in the lessons, the delicious food and the feasts. He even missed the detentions, the homework and the bad weather.  
  
A sob tore through him. How long had it been since he had seen them? Truly see them? Half a year?  
Tears started to stream along his cheeks slowly but it didn’t take long before he was full-out sobbing. It had been so long since he had seen anyone he cared about. While he had been locked away in the Hospital Wing the only persons who he had been allowed to see were Dumbledore, Snape and madam Pomfrey. And for the last couple of months he had only seen Voldemort.  
  
His shoulders shook and trembled as everything just became too much. His helplessness at being sick and in the hands of his worst enemy, the fact that he missed his friends and hadn’t seen them for so long, the fact that he was held prisoner in a gilded cage, the unfairness of his entire life, being kissed by a man before he even had the change to kiss a girl he _wanted_ to kiss, the fact that he just wanted to have a loving family which wouldn’t be torn away like his parents or Sirius had been, the fact that he didn’t want to be alone anymore. It was all just too much. For the first time ever he just sat down and let it all out; the rage, the sadness, the loneliness, the hatred, the disgust and the sheer helplessness.  
  
It didn’t take long before he released just where he was and he rubbed the tears away as quickly as he could as he didn’t want to be seen by any of the many snakes in the library in case they would tell Voldemort.  
But it didn’t work and the tears started to flow faster until they fell onto the book. His eyes were blurry with the tears as he closed the book and fled the library in favour of the somewhat more secluded bedchamber where he dropped himself on the bed face down in an attempt to hide his tears.  
  
It didn’t take long before he fell asleep; mentally and emotionally exhausted and still recuperating – or suffering – from his sickness.  
  
He felt better the next morning, just like Voldemort had told him he would. He could honestly say that he preferred to be sick over taking the so-called cure.  
  
 **oOo**  
  
A week and a half went by in which he had thrown himself into the books – even though he still disliked reading – in an attempt to forget about the fact that Voldemort had kissed him and to forget about the fact that he was essentially a prisoner locked away in the few fancy rooms he was allowed to wander around in. It actually worked quite well as the books and the magic mentioned in them were rather interesting.   
It had surprised him when Voldemort had handed the books to him that they didn’t contain information about the Dark Arts or Black Magic beyond what he would have learned in Defence against the Dark Arts. Instead, they were about the material he should have learned in his sixth year or they contained more in-depth information about his courses. He had even been given beginner books about runes and books about the Animagus transformation – though they didn’t mention how he was supposed to turn back after he was forced into his form. The book were all interesting and they explained the subjects clearly so even he – who wasn’t the best or most dedicated student out there – could understand the material. He learned more from those books than he had ever learned from some of the teachers.  
  
In that week and a half he had avoided Voldemort as much as possible, which wasn’t as hard as he had expected as the man was too busy with planning something dastardly to pay attention to him.  
  
It was on exactly the week-and-a-half mark that he started to become sick again. Just like the first and second time, it started like a mild cold.  
The difference: this time he didn’t notify anyone. He was not willing to get kissed by Voldemort again.  
  
By the time two weeks had passed he was down with a very stubborn cold and the suspicion that he was getting sick by a far faster rate than the last two times – though he couldn’t exactly tell as he had been _cured_ before he actually got truly sick the second time.  
  
 **oOo**  
  
Harry quickly followed after the thick python as it slithered towards the Dark Lord’s second office, the one he had never been in. He didn’t _want_ to see Voldemort – especially not after what had happened just two weeks ago – but he was aware that if he didn’t go to Voldemort the man would make him come to him. And he was not ready for that.  
  
He coughed lightly and the snake slowed down and looked at him.  
 ** _“:Is Little Master alright?:”_** the snake asked him with something that sounded like concern.  
 ** _“:I’m fine,:”_** Harry answered somewhat testily, **_“:just a dry throat.:”_**  
The snake turned to look at him fully and Harry stared back. Finally, after he didn’t cough, sneeze or something along those lines for over a minute, the snake bobbed its head, turned back around and continued to guide him towards Voldemort.  
  
It didn’t take long before they reached the door which opened to the office. The snake pressed its snout against a small indention on the door and the door swung open.  
Harry stepped inside the office and shot a cursory look around – it was large, light, covered in books and decorated with light blue tints and dark wood – before he looked towards Voldemort.  
The man was seated on a comfortable looking chair behind a large wooden desk and he appeared to be completely focused on his customary paperwork but Harry knew that Voldemort knew that he had entered the room.  
 ** _“:You wanted to see me?:”_** Harry asked as soon as he had plopped down in the just slightly less comfortable chair in front of the large mahogany desk.  
Voldemort kept writing for a couple of minutes – in which Harry fidgeted and carefully made sure he didn’t sneeze, cough or sniffled – before he finally looked up.  
 ** _“:I’ll be out of the country for a while,:”_** Voldemort told him dispassionately as he sat back in his chair and folded his hands in front of him, **_“:do you need curing before I go?:”_**  
Harry blinked at him as panic settled in his stomach before he finally managed to stammer in a voice that was a couple of tones higher than normal, **_“:n-no, I-I’m fine!:”  
_**  
 ** _“:Good,:”_** Voldemort commented before he opened a drawer and took a crystal flask filled with some kind of dark red liquid out of it and placed it in front of Harry, **_“:take this when you start to feel sick. I’ll leave two flasks with my house elves in case you need more. I want you to write down the time and date when you take one of the flasks.:”_**  
 ** _“:What does it contain?:”_** Harry asked curiously as he picked the flask up and held it against the light coming from the window. The liquid stayed dark red - though it lightened slightly to a dark blood red – and it seemed slightly viscous. If he had to make a guess he would say that it was exactly what it looked like but he preferred to be under the delusion that it was some kind of potion he didn’t know about.  
 **** _“:My blood,:”_ Voldemort told him blankly and just like that his delusion was torn away.  
Harry hastily placed it back on the desk and leaned slightly away from it in disgust.  
 ** _“:Why do I need to take your blood?:”_** he asked, repulsion colouring his tone.  
 ** _“:Because it stabilizes the horcrux,:”_** the Dark Lord told him, ****_“:if that was the last of your questions…:”_  
  
The man trailed off but Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one so he stood and turned to leave the office.  
 ** _“:Don’t forget the blood!:”_** Voldemort called after him, **_“:and don’t forget to write down when you take it!:”_**  
  
Harry turned back around reluctantly and took the flask of blood from the desk grudgingly before he quickly left the office.  
  
He almost ran towards the bedroom he was assigned. He reached it quickly, threw the door open and slammed it closed as soon as he had entered it. He stormed over towards his bed, opened the drawer of his night stand and almost threw the flask inside – it didn’t break sadly enough, though he knew that would have been annoyed if it had – and closed the drawer forcefully.  
He decided there and then that he would rather die than drink the man’s blood. He was not a vampire but a normal human being. His magic spiked with his anger as he thought of the things the insufferable man saw as cures. French kisses and blood were _not_ medicines. Not now, not ever!  
  
He dropped face down on the bed as he wondered about the weird turn of events in his life. One moment he was just fine but with very good friends and a man who was more than willing to end his life, the next moment he was always sick and forced to do things he didn’t want to stay healthy – he pondered if he wasn’t just poisoned – but without friends and with his enemy worrying about his health. He turned around and stared up at the ceiling.  
  
Voldemort had mentioned that there were two possible ways to cure him permanently: one _he_ wouldn’t willing to take and one Voldemort wasn’t willing to give. So what where they?  
One of them was ripping away a part of his own soul by murdering someone. Voldemort had told him that much and he agreed with the man when he had said that he was not willing to do _that_.  
  
But what could the other one possibly be? Was it possible to remove the piece of soul out of him? One of the books had mentioned something but it had been one sentence and it had only mentioned that it was possible. But that same book had also mentioned that it was impossible to turn a living being into a horcrux so maybe it wasn’t possible to remove a horcrux from either him or Nagini?  
  
He coughed violently for a couple of seconds before he rolled back onto his stomach and buried his head in the pillow. He didn’t even want to think about this now. Hell, he never wanted to think about. But he would have to if he wanted to stay healthy without Voldemort’s help.  
  
With a sigh he turned back onto his back, sat up and took one of the books from his nightstand. He might as well reread what he had read about the horcruxes.  
  
 **oOo**  
  
He found himself once again clustered to his bed a month later. His cold had quickly told into the flu. It wasn’t long after Voldemort had left – about a week and a half – that he was too sick to leave his room in favour of walking around. Days after that he couldn’t even leave his bed beyond short visits to the bathroom. Three and a half weeks after Voldemort had left the country saw him too weak to do even that.  
  
Luckily – well depending on how you looked at it – Voldemort had left the day after he had told him he would so he wasn’t forced to take the blood.  
The house elves had tried to feed the blood to him. First by handing him the flask with his dinner. When they had tried that a few times and they finally realised that it didn’t work as he had yet to take it, they put it into a goblet so he wouldn’t have to drink directly from the flask. When he still refused to drink it even after they had watered it down, they placed it in his food. When he stopped eating his food al together to make sure he didn’t have to consume the blood, they placed it in the liquids he drank. He still refused to ingest it though and the house elves quickly became desperate. Especially as they only had three flasks of blood and he was quite sure they had used at least two in his food and liquids.  
  
But he was beyond caring. He felt sick and tired and he rather die than ingest anything that belonged to Voldemort. Besides, if he died it meant that Voldemort was one step closer to being mortal. And if the man was mortal he could be killed by anyone which means his friends would be safe.  
He would do anything to keep his friends safe, even it meant sacrificing himself.  
  
 **oOoOoOo**  
  
He returned to his manor two months after he had left, his mission of convincing the vampires and giants to help him with the war successful though it had taken longer to convince them than he had expected.  
  
He had to admit that he was worried about his horcrux. Its vessel was a stubborn boy who still hated him with a vengeance but he had ordered his elves to make sure the boy drank the blood as soon as he showed signs that he was starting to become sick. And he trusted his house elves – or their rather their fear for him – enough that they would do as he had ordered them.  
  
So when he finally entered his foyer he didn’t expect to be accosted by every single one of his house elves; all blubbering and crying about something. It was completely chaotic and he couldn’t understand what even a single one of them said. The fact that the snakes – which had been resting in the foyer – woke up thanks to the noise and started to hiss in irritation and anger didn’t help.  
  
It took about half a minute before the last remnants of his temper disappeared and he fired a spell in the midst of the chaotic bunch of noise.  
One of the elves fell down with a loud pain filled wail and the other elves fell silent as they cowered in fear in front of him. They knew his temper well enough to refrain from angering him even further.  
A hissed ‘silence’ luckily silenced the snakes almost immediately and blessed silence fell.  
  
“Wizzy,” he demanded and one of the house elves wrestle its way forwards. It was the oldest house elf he had and it had been in his service since the very beginning. Wizzy was also his head house elf and the one elf he _tried_ to refrain from harming as it was needed to keep his household running normally.  
“Report,” he ordered as soon as the elf stood in front of him.  
“Master’s snakey is fine,” the house elf told him with a wild, almost fearful flap of its head which caused its ears to flap just as wildly.  
“And my horcrux?” he asked with narrowed eyes.  
The house elf started to shake badly and the other elves started to wail loudly again.  
He closed his eyes briefly before they snapped open again and ordered sharply, “leave!”  
The house elves popped away quickly as they were more than aware that when he used _that_ tone his temper was about to explode violently – even worse than it had before. And _that_ meant either pain or death for them.  
  
He strode out of the foyer and into the main rooms of his manor in a brisk tempo. It didn´t take long before he stood outside of the boy´s room and he threw the door open with enough force to have it slam loudly against the wall.  
The boy – who was laying on the bed – didn´t so much as stir from the noise.  
  
He stalked towards the bed and tore the blankets away from the boy’s body so he could see his entire body. With a flick of his wand the boy was naked. The boy – who had already been shivering slightly – started to shiver violently almost immediately but he ignored that in favour of studying the boy. His face was an ashen colour but he was also flushed with fever. His cheeks were sunken and there were large bruises around his heavily lidded, dull green eyes. His body was just as ashen as his face and he was skin over bones. He could actually count his ribs without effort. His hair and nails were unhealthy looking and his hair shone with grease.  
His eyes – while open – didn’t even seem capable of seeing what was going on around him. In fact, it was very clear that the boy was too far gone to even comprehend what was going on around him.  
  
He frowned as he wondered why the boy was falling apart in such a short time when before it had taken over six months before he was at the same stage as he was now. He quickly dismissed that thought as he shrugged his robe of.  
  
It was time to _cure_ the boy. Again.  
  
At least it was pleasurable. For him.  
  
 **oOoOoOo**  
  
The first thing he noticed when he woke up – or returned to full consciousness – was that he was _sore_ everywhere. His entire body hurt like he had been hit by a fright truck. But there were certain particular strange places where he hurt from the strangest pains.  
There were particularly sore spots along his neck and collarbone and he felt scabbed over wounds on them as he carefully prodded them. There were also hand and finger shaped almost black bruises on his arms, legs and hips and he stared completely baffled at them. Some of the bruises had small crescent shaped scabbed over wounds he noticed but they didn’t hurt as badly as the bruises themselves.  
But the spot that caused him the most pain was his butt. Moving hurt as pain shot up from that particular spot every time he moved and when he carefully prodded his ass he winced as he accidently hit a only slightly healed tear.  
  
It was all very confusing and he couldn’t wrap his mind around the reason _why_ he should be hurt like he was.  
  
A pained groan left his mouth as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position so he could go back to sleep – he was still ridiculously tired – but the pain and the fact that he was still hungry made him finally open his eyes and sit up. Or at least, he tried to sit up as the pain in his behind didn’t _let_ him sit up. In the end he managed to place his pillow in such a way against the headboard that he was capable of half laying, half sitting on the bed. This was accompanied with a lot of sighs, groans and moans of pain but he sat – kind of – so he didn’t particularly care.  
  
It was then that he realised that he was still _alive_. And still in the same bedroom as he had been in since he had been taken by Voldemort. He groaned loudly again, though this time it had nothing to do with the pain in his body. Well, this time the groan had _almost_ nothing to do with the pain as the stiffening of his muscles in reaction to the fact that he was _still_ with Voldemort had caused pain pulses to flare from his butt. Again.  
  
He sunk back into his pillow as he realised that him being alive meant that he was still a vessel for Voldemort’s horcrux.  
  
After a couple of minutes mourning about the fact that Voldemort was still no step closer to becoming mortal again he finally noticed that he was completely naked underneath the sheets. And that there was something hard and metal around his and resting on his chest .  
He took the something – a golden, hexagonal locket decorated with an almost serpentine S made out of small green stones – of his chest and tried to pull it over his head as he wasn’t exactly fond of wearing jewellery. He managed to lift the chain of the locket to about the space were neck shaded off into head before it just wouldn’t go further. He let it slid down again before he tried to get it off again. After two more tries he released the locket with a huff and let it rest back on his naked chest.  
  
He sunk back heavily into the pillow, tired from his efforts to sit up and tired of his attempts to remove the locket. The pain didn’t help much either.  
  
He had managed to doze off again when the door slammed open and he jumped up, completely awake. Only to groan in pain as the pain in his body – especially in his butt – made itself known for the umpteenth time that day.  
  
In the time he needed to rest gingerly back into the pillow Voldemort – who else could and would have slammed open _that_ door – had made his way over towards the bed and had seated himself in a chair next to it.  
Harry turned towards him as far as the pain would let him, only to wish he hadn’t. The man’s eyes were an angry, glowing red and his expression was murderous. Not for the first time that day did he wish he had died.  
  
 ** _“:You almost died,:”_** Voldemort told him softly. There was a dangerous note in his voice and Harry wished he would just yell at him. Everything was better than _that_ tone of voice because he last few times he had heard it meant he had ended up in pain thanks to certain spells. Maybe that was what had happened to him this time?  
 ** _“:You’ll be punished for that,:”_** Voldemort continued before he fell silent as he studied him. Suddenly his wand was in his hand and pointed towards him and Harry scrambled back in an attempt to get away. Only to produce a pain filled sound as twinges of pain shot through his body.  
  
Voldemort smirked lecherously at him before he flicked his wand and the covers flew away from Harry, leaving him bare for Voldemort to see. Harry squeaked in both surprise and embarrassment and tried to dive after the blankets but the pain in his body hindered him, much to Voldemort’s amusement.  
 ** _“:The locket will tell me in what state of health you are,:”_** Voldemort told him as he reached out to take it from where it hang. He tugged firmly at it so Harry was forced to move forward before he stroked over the S, which started to glow lightly.  
 ** _“:The moment your health starts to decline beyond a certain extent it will take over your body and make you come to me,:”_** he drawled as his smirk grew larger, **_“:there is nothing you can do against it except making sure that you come to me before your natural barriers fall, which they will when you become too sick.:”_**  
  
He released the locket and sat back in the chair. Harry moved as fast and as far away from him as the pain in his body allowed him.  
 ** _“:But that is not your punishment,:”_** he continued after a couple of seconds, **_“:you have ten minutes to wash yourself.:”_**  
Harry stared at him in confusion until the Dark Lord told him, **_“:nine minutes left.:”_**  
  
He scrambled out of the bed and towards the bathroom – still completely naked – as fast as the pain allowed him to. Once there he quickly jumped into the shower and washed himself under the cold water, something which he hadn’t had to do since he had started his first year at Hogwarts.  
He wasn’t exactly unknown with the concept of running completely naked towards either the shower or the toilet, he had had to do it at the Dursleys often enough. Taken cold showers was nothing new either.  
  
He felt slightly better after the shower as the water had turned warm during his time underneath the spray and it had soothed the worst of the pain but he still limped thanks to the pain in his behind.  
He quickly towelled himself dry, wrapped the towel around his waist to keep at least something of his modesty and made his way out of the room without even bothering to look into the mirror, though he was curious about the strange wounds on the general area around his neck.  
  
When he entered the room – with a limp he could do nothing about – it was to the words, **_“:took you long enough.:”_**  
He flushed with anger as he glowered towards Voldemort but the wand pointed towards him made him stop short rather quickly. The fact that he couldn’t stop the soft yelp of pain that escaped him as his muscles stiffened didn’t make him feel any better.  
  
“ _Animus Conversus_!” Voldemort cast towards him and he managed one single swearword before he was forced into his Animagus form. He growled lowly towards the man as soon as his vocal cords were capable of producing sound but the man ignored it in favour of casting a _Petrificus Totalus_ on him.  
 ** _“:This is your punishment,:”_** he told him darkly amused as he moved towards him and showed him a light green, leather collar, **_“:this collar will make sure that you’re always near me.:”_**  
Harry glared at him as he placed the collar around his thick neck but there was nothing he could do against it.  
  
 ** _“:Come,:”_** Voldemort said as he walked towards the door. Once he neared it he flicked his wand to remove the Full Body-Bind Curse he had placed on him.  
Harry remained where he was, even as Voldemort started to move again.  
The man took a couple of steps forward only to stop.  
 ** _“:I suggest you start walking before the spell on the collar activates,:”_** he told him, **_“:while I would enjoy seeing you hurt it will only cause you to get sick again and I rather not have that.:”_**  
Harry just flicked his tongue out towards him but stayed where he was stubbornly.  
  
Voldemort raised an eyebrow at him but once it became clear Harry was not about to start moving he continued walking. He was about thirty feet away from Harry when suddenly it felt as if pins were boring itself in his skin. They were painful but Harry had had worse so he ignored it. Hell, the pain currently running through his body thanks to the strange wounds and bruises and the unexplainable pain in his butt were worse than the feeling radiating from the collar.  
  
However, it became far more painful once Voldemort had reached the forty-five feet and by the time Voldemort had reached the sixty feet Harry quickly moved forwards as fast as he could as the pain started to become unbearable. The pain he had felt before he had been turned into his Animagus form was nothing compared to the pain he was feeling now. Even the inexplicable pain in his behind which had managed to cause him to limp had nothing on the pain caused by the collar after Voldemort had reached a certain distance away from him.  
  
 ** _“:I told you it would be painful,:”_**   Voldemort told him with a satisfied smile as soon as he had caught up with him, which hadn’t taken as long as apparently komodo dragons were quite fast.  Who knew.  
Harry snapped at the man’s leg with sharp teeth but he would never actually bite him and Voldemort knew that. Biting the hand that fed him and all that.  
Together they walked towards the meeting room.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mental issues.  
> Disclaimer: Not mine.

The next couple of weeks were spent in his Animagus form and he was made to follow Voldemort everywhere – even into places like the bathroom which was beyond awkward for him but which seemed to amuse Voldemort if the almost lecherous smirks counted as indication – unless he wanted to be in pain.  
He slept on the carpeted, warmed ground next to the Dark Lord’s bed, he ate the raw meat he was given next to the grand table Voldemort normally ate from and he was washed at the same time as Voldemort took his bath. That last thing was especially uncomfortable as being washed meant that he had to share the same bath as Voldemort if he wanted to get clean. And even though he looked and acted like a komodo dragon – thanks to his animal instincts – he was still very much human so seeing someone naked was beyond embarrassing. Luckily, the bath was more than large enough and he enjoyed swimming in it. Especially as komodo dragons were great swimmers and divers, even better than he could ever hope to be as a human.  
  
Well, he was a komodo dragon _most_ of the time.  
Twice a week Voldemort would turn him back into his normal, human form so he could do _that_ to him – which mostly involves exchanging a lot of blood and saliva and which left Harry with the intense _need_ to bite the man, preferably his tongue which seemed hell-bent on invading his mouth – before he was once again turned back into a komodo dragon. Worst thing was that he still hadn’t figured out how to turn back into his human form without Voldemort having to use the Animagus Revelio spell, something which amused Voldemort just slightly less than the fact that he had to follow him when he went to take a bath or when he needed to go to the toilet. Bastard.  
  
The first time Voldemort had turned him back into his human form was after a particularly annoying meeting in which even Harry had wanted to kill someone.  
They had still been in the meeting room – just the two of them as Voldemort had sent everyone away with the threat that if they were still there by the time he had drawn his wand people would start to _die_ – and Voldemort had suddenly drawn his wand and _pointed it at him_! Harry had frozen in shock – who wouldn’t after _that_ threat – but all Voldemort had done was turn him back into a human.  
  
He had looked around stupidly for a couple of minutes before he had risen from the warm and comfy pillow he had lain upon. He had started to stretch to get the kinks out of the muscles he had suddenly needed to use – the kind of muscles humans didn’t use but komodo dragons apparently did, it was strange that he hadn’t felt them before – while wondering if he could finally brush his teeth as the raw meat he had been fed during his stay as Voldemort’s new pet dinosaur had left him with a disgusting taste in his mouth. The small pieces of meat which had gotten stuck between his teeth had started to rot inside his mouth – which was really fast for something to start rotting and  which was beyond disgusting – but apparently that was _normal_ for komodo dragons. They actually used that and the venom their venom glands contained to _hunt_ as animals either fell down after a couple of hours due to the venom or died because of whatever bacteria had made their home inside _his mouth_. Bacteria which were poisonous to everything that wasn’t the komodo dragon they lived on or in. He wasn’t quite sure however if he was quite as safe from the same bacteria when he was human.  
  
He had been so busy with daydreaming about finally having clean teeth that he had failed to notice the fact that Voldemort had made his way over until he stood in front of him.   
He had finally noticed him when the man had grabbed hold of his chin and had pressed his non-existent lips against his own. He had frozen in shock which had given the Dark Lord the chance to force open his mouth and push his tongue inside forcefully.  
His mouth had been ravished harshly before he even had the chance to fully comprehend what had happened and by the time he had finally realised just what was going on Voldemort had already withdrawn his own tongue, stepped away from him and had once again pointed his wand towards him.  
  
Harry could admit that he was quite annoyed when he had been turned back into his Animagus form.  
Until he had realised that he had been once again _kissed_ by that bastard.  
That had been the first time since the start of his stay with Voldemort that he had actually attacked – truly attacked – the man as he had, in his anger, let his animal instincts take over.   
He had knocked down Voldemort with his tail before he had bitten him in his shoulder, injecting both his venom and whatever poison the bacteria in his mouth –the ones he had been annoyed with – had made directly in the man’s arteries. He hoped he died from either the bite or the disgusting bacteria in his mouth. That would teach him!  
  
He had only managed to have his teeth sunken in Voldemort’s flesh for a little more than a second before the collar had started to send incredibly painful shocks through his system, his scar had started to burn in such a way that it didn’t take long before he had a terrible headache and he had been hit with the Cruciatus Curse.  
He had released the Dark Lord almost immediately in favour of twitching and arching and whimpering in pain – which was quite a feat as he had never known that komodo dragons could make such noises or move like that. His tail had been twitching and thumping on the floor until it had once again hit Voldemort.  
  
He had been told afterwards that that had apparently brought Voldemort back to his senses as he had broken of the curse before he had called for a house elf. It had appeared rather quickly but Harry had only been vaguely aware of what had happened around him after a couple of seconds into the curse so he had only become aware of what was going on around him _after_ he had been force fed a disgusting potion.  
By that time Voldemort had already been healed and the poisons had already been – sadly enough – removed from his body.  
  
He had slowly risen to his clawed, stabile paws from his inelegant position on the ground until he had stood once again fully secure on the floor. He had shaken the last remnants of pain away after which he had turned cautiously towards Voldemort.  
But the snake-like man had completely ignored him in favour of studying the scar he had been left with. He had apparently bitten hard and deep enough that not even magic could heal it without leaving a mark.  
  
Three days later he was once again turned back to his human form before he was once again kissed.   
He had struggled quite fiercely as soon as he had realised what was about to happen but Voldemort was stronger than he could ever hope to be while being a human so he had been quickly subdued. Not that _that_ had stopped him from clenching his mouth shut or continuing with struggling.  
  
**_“:Why do you keep doing that?:” _**he had asked quickly as soon as he and his mouth were once again released and he had wiped his mouth off furiously. Voldemort had stood once again in front of him with his wand raised and he rather had his answer _before_ he was turned back into his Animagus form.  
**_“:Because I need to make sure you’re healthy,:”_** Voldemort had drawled as if he should have known the answer, **_“:but as you will not tell me when you are starting to get sick again I’ll have to make sure you can’t get sick.:”_**  
Harry had scowled at him but he had been incapable of asking anything else – like some time to brush his damn teeth – before he had been turned back into his komodo dragon form.  
  
Sadly enough, the man still hadn’t died because of whatever bacteria lived in his mouth.  
  
**oOo  
**  
The third, fourth and fifth time he had been kissed he had struggled just as fiercely as he had struggled the second time.  
  
During the sixth and seventh time he had still struggled but not as fiercely as he was aware that it would a) not help one jot, b) it would just tire him out, c) Voldemort found it amusing when he struggled, d) Voldemort just loved to show him just who was the most powerful of the two in whichever way he could and e) the man seemed to _like_ it when he struggled. So he decided that since he couldn’t actually win he might as well fight in ways he _might_ win.  
  
So during the eighth, ninth, tenth and eleventh time he just stood there dispassionately as Voldemort did whatever he wanted to do to his mouth.  
  
It was also during that time that he noticed slight differences in the way Voldemort treated him. The man had started to directly feed him the meat he was given instead of having it dropped in front of him. He had also started to pet him when he was resting next to Voldemort as the man was reading some kind of book or report.  
And last but not least: he had been given more freedom. He was no longer forced to follow the man everywhere – though it had taken some time before he had noticed that – and he was able to wander further away from the man without feeling the pain. The collar remained around his neck however and he still was hit with sharp pain if he moved too far away from the dark wizard but all together: he had far more freedom than before.  
  
It was because of those changes that he had hesitantly wrapped his own arms around the wizard during the thirteenth time he was kissed. Voldemort had stiffened slightly – possibly in surprise, probably because of some other reason – before he had awarded him by starting to comb the hand that had held his head in place through his hair.  
He would never admit it but he had made the softest sound of pleasure at the feeling of that hand carding through his hair. No one had ever done that to him before and it had felt nice.  
  
He had rested his head against the Dark Lord’s leg after a lot of hesitating two days later during one of the meetings.   
One of his followers had given him a report about something and Harry had been resting on his pillow like he was wont to do these days. After all, there was not a lot he could do when he was forced to be a ten feet long lizard who was not allowed to move away from a certain Dark Lord.  
  
He had always been a very affectionate young man, something which could be traced back to how he had been raised by the Dursleys who had never touched him unless absolutely necessary.   
At least, he was affectionate as long as he was beyond one hundred percent sure that the person he was affectionate with would not hurt him while touching him – something he was aware of and something he hated as he knew that he could get hurt seriously because of it. He loved the hugs he was given by Hermione and Mrs Weasley and actively sought them out from either them or anyone else whom he cared for and who was willing to receive them.  
  
Somehow the fact that Voldemort hadn’t hurt him in over six weeks had convinced him unconsciously – because rationally he knew that Voldemort would hurt him as soon as he wanted to – that Voldemort wouldn’t hurt him. His instincts told him that the man was safe and as his mind was ruled by his instincts most of the time as he was in his Animagus form it meant that he would start to search out touch from the Dark Lord eventually.  
  
He had _wanted_ – no _needed_ – to be touched by a kind hand, one which wouldn’t hurt him. And the only one around who was safe enough – according to the irrational part of his brain – was Voldemort.  
  
So he had raised himself slightly from where he had lain on the pillow and he had leaned his head lightly against Voldemort’s leg. He had felt Voldemort stiffen slightly before he had been rewarded by a questioning eyebrow. He had just carefully nuzzled his head against the leg, mindful of the sharp and hard scales his head was covered with.  
Voldemort had relaxed after that and he had turned his attention back on the still talking minion. The hand not holding his wand, however, had risen from where it had lain on the man’s lap and had settled on his head to scratch him lightly.  
  
He had been turned back to his human form after the meeting.  
**_“:Why did you do it?:”_** Voldemort had asked him as soon as Harry had stopped stretching.  
Harry had blushed a bright red and he had averted his gaze but he had refrained from answering until Voldemort had almost pressed his body against his and had forced him to meet his eyes be gripping his chin and forcing his head upwards.  
**_“:Either you tell me…,:”_** Voldemort had threatened, though the grip on his chin was gentle.  
**_“:I need touch to feel safe,:”_** Harry had finally told him softly.  
**_“:Why?:”_** Voldemort had asked him completely baffled and he had released his chin and taken a step back.  
  
Harry had once again lowered his head, **_“:you know how I was raised, right?:”_**  
**_“:A yes, your… lovely family members,:”_** Voldemort had hissed sardonically, **_“:one of the many reasons why you should agree with me that muggles shouldn’t know about our world.:”_**  
This time it had been Harry who had stared in confusion at the man.  
**_“:They never touched you, did they?:”_** Voldemort had stated in such a way that it was clear that he understood, **_“:at least very rarely and never in a positive way.:”_**  
He had just nodded and that had been the end of it, though Harry _would_ admit that the smirk Voldemort had suddenly worn had scared him.  
  
Their relationship – if whatever they had could be called a relationship – had changed slightly after that. Voldemort had made sure that he touched him as often as he could but never to hurt him and Harry had started to actively search out the contact after the fifteenth time he had been kissed.  
  
He could readily admit after the eighteenth kiss that he both enjoyed the kiss and the contact he was given.   
That eighteenth kiss had been a milestone of a sort.  
He was once again human and not forced to spend all his time as a komodo dragon – he had finally time to brush his teeth! He was surprised that he had yet to have cavities with the amount of bacteria that probably lived on the rotting meat in his mouth – and he was allowed to roam free once again, though he was still forced to wear the collar _and_ the locket. He had even been given access to more rooms than he had had access to _before_ he had been forced to spend almost all his time as a mockery of a dinosaur. He still missed his friends and he was still as much of a prisoner as before but somehow it didn’t seem as bad.  
  
Voldemort made sure to spend more time with him and if he couldn’t spend time with him he made sure that Nagini – whom he hadn’t seen for months – was near him. So he was rarely lonely.  
  
And Voldemort wasn’t that bad now that he wasn’t trying to kill him. He patiently tried to explain the theory of the subjects he didn’t understand to him and he even let him practice the spells with Harry’s own wand. He had missed his wand so much so it felt like a fresh breath of air now that he was allowed to touch it again.  
When he didn’t have the time to explain things to him he let him stay near him in his office so he could read the books he had been given. He even went as far as to have a comfortable couch he could lay down on moved into his office so Harry could lounge on it.  
  
But it was the touches that Harry enjoyed the most.  
Voldemort made sure to pet him or scratch him on his head when he was in his Animagus form. During the kiss one arm would be thrown gently but possessively around his waist while the other would card through his hair. The kiss itself was still rough, possessive and made to dominate him but it was far more gentle and even pleasurable. And while he still wanted to kiss girls more than he wanted to kiss boys he had come to enjoy the kisses.  
But Voldemort touched him even when he was in his normal human form. A hand would be placed on the small of his back when he was guided somewhere, a hand would find its way onto his shoulder when Voldemort explained things to him, Voldemort would take his hand when he wanted to show him how to perform a spell instead of him just demonstrating it and he was allowed to hug him if he wanted to – not that he hugged him often, his snake-like form still disquieted him.  
  
The first time Harry had hugged Voldemort was when he had been given back his wand for the first time. He had been so happy to see it again the he had spontaneously thrown his arms around the man – something he normally did with any of his friends if he was happy or pleasantly surprised. The Dark Lord had frozen in shock and Harry, who had finally realised just what he had done, had drawn back. But before he had been able to draw back completely Voldemort had wrapped his own arms around him. This time it had been Harry who had frozen. It had been completely awkward.  
  
The second time had been when he had found out that all of his friends were still alive and still healthy. It had been just as spontaneous as the first hug. The only difference was that Voldemort hadn’t stiffened, or he had but Harry hadn’t noticed it as the man had wrapped his arms around him almost immediately. It hadn’t been as awkward as the first hug and it had been almost nice.  
  
There hadn’t been a third time. Yet.  
  
**oOo  
**  
It was because of the new-found more touchy relationship – which was still not quite the right word to describe whatever it was they had – that Harry found himself laying with his head in Voldemort’s lap and with the rest of his long body on top of the large lounge during a meeting of the Inner Circle halfway into October. He was once again in his Animagus form and his eyes were closed slightly in bliss as he was petted. His tongue flicked out every once in a while to make sure nothing changed in his surroundings but that was it. The lounge was warm and comfortable, the hand petting him was heavenly and the soft hissing of the snake laying on top of him made him sleepy.  
  
It wasn’t overly strange to see Nagini lay down on top of him while he was in his Animagus form. According to her he was even warmer than the humans around them or the rocks she normally used to warm herself and the horcruxes inside of them were attracted to each other. Besides, she wasn’t overly heavy and the weight on his back was just as nice as the hand petting him.  
  
He wasn’t paying attention to the meeting. He never did unless someone he cared about was mentioned. _Then_ he started to pay attention.  
But their names were rarely mentioned as Voldemort made sure that he either did not hear about it when they were hurt or he made sure they didn’t _get_ hurt. He only knew that they were alright because of the memories Voldemort showed him every once in a while and because of the fact that the man swore a magical oath that they were just fine.  
  
It was halfway through the meeting that Harry’s tongue felt a change in his direct surrounding. It was almost at the same time that Voldemort’s head snapped up from where he had been reading some report.  
“The wards have been breached,” he told the members of his Inner Circle and he carefully coaxed Harry to move his head from his lap.   
“Rudolphus, Sigfried ward the door, but don’t make the wards too difficult to breach. Lucius, Bella guard the door, make sure they can ward it before we are attacked. Rabastan, ward the windows. The rest of you: prepare to fight them of. Make sure you protect both reptiles!” he ordered sharply as he waved his wand in complicated twirls.  
The Death Eaters jumped into position as soon as their names were called.  
  
“Wizzy,” Voldemort barked as soon as he was done with whatever magic he had been doing.  
The house elf appeared almost immediately, “yes master?”  
“The manor is under attack,” Voldemort told him, “remember the trinkets I showed you? Get them to me if you would. After you have done that make sure that the house elves are somewhere safe and make sure they all remain unharmed.”  
The house elf nodded enthusiastically before it popped away.  
  
It didn’t take long before he returned with some very familiar trinkets. He handed them to Voldemort and popped away again. Harry raised his head from where he had lowered it on the sofa to get a good look at them but Voldemort had already moved away from his line of sight.  
**_“:Nagini_ , _:”_** he hissed softly as he walked towards the large reptile, **_“:you know what to do!:”_**  
The snake rose from her spot on top of his back and reared up so she could look at the man.  
She opened her mouth and Harry – who had finally moved to stand so he could finally see what was important about those trinkets – watched in shock and disgust as Voldemort placed the aforementioned trinkets – which he still hadn’t seen – Inside her mouth. She closed her mouth again and swallowed.  
  
Voldemort nodded in satisfaction before he turned to Harry.  
****_“:Bite them if they are about to attack you,:”_ he told him sternly.  
Harry’s tongue shot out and he hissed angrily at him, though he knew Voldemort wouldn’t understand what he had said.  
  
Voldemort turned away from him and towards the Death Eaters.  
“Take them out as much as possible without outright killing them,” he ordered sharply, “I want to know how they know about this place and why they have decided to attack now. You’re only to kill if you have no other choice.”  
“Yes, my Lord,” was the reply from all of the Death Eaters present.  
“Good,” Voldemort said curtly as he turned back to the door.  
  
They waited patiently – or rather _im_ patiently – for several long minutes until sounds of fighting could be heard.  
“Remember what I told you,” Voldemort said with an almost bloodthirsty smirk which bared too much teeth.  
  
It didn’t take long before the wards came down and the attackers entered the room. There were two of them and they went down immediately, courtesy of two stunners.  
They were followed almost immediately by more attackers and it wasn’t long after they had appeared that the battle truly started.


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none for this chapter.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own the rights.

He knew something wasn’t right the moment he woke up. The bed he was laying was harder and stiffer than he was used to, his pillow wasn’t as fluffy as it should be and his blanket was rough against his skin. The scent he could smell was also not what it should be; it was the sterile scent of a hospital and not the scent of fire, the leather of books and the dark scent he always associated with… someone or something, he couldn’t remember.   
  
He wrinkled his nose in annoyance as he realised that he couldn’t remember where he had smelt those scents before or why he believed this bed to be harder than the one he had claimed as his. His bed in the Dursley’s house was even harder and crappier than the one he was currently occupying and his bed in Gryffindor tower was only slightly softer than the bed he was laying on now. His pillow in the tower was far fluffier than the one he was currently resting his head on, though.   
  
He opened his eyes slowly and was only slightly surprised to see the familiar white ceiling highlighted by the afternoon sun instead of the dark wooden one he had gotten used to when he had stayed with… _someone_.  
He felt disorientated so he closed his eyes again. His body was telling him things his mind couldn’t remember or comprehend and it made him feel _odd_.  
  
A soft noise a couple of meters away from him made him open his eyes and he turned towards the noise, happy with the distraction.  
“Good, you are awake,” Madam Pomfrey greeted him and she seemed truly relieved to see him awake, “how do you feel? Dizzy, nauseous, problems with your vision?”  
“I feel fine,” he answered puzzled, though he felt both from the way she spoke and his own off-balanced body and mind that he _shouldn’t_ _be_ _fine_. That he should be, in fact, quite sick by now.  
But why should he feel that way? Had something happened?  
  
“Why am I here?” he asked curiously as he carefully sat up and leaned against the headboard cushioned by his pillow, “did something happen?”  
The elderly matron searched his eyes before she asked gently, “what is the last thing you remember?”  
He wrecked his brain for about a minute while Madam Pomfrey waited patiently at his side.  
“I’m not quite sure,” he finally answered, “there are flashes of scenes but I can’t make sense of them.”  
“What is the last thing you actively remember?” she asked, “the last thing you can remember which makes the most sense and which you could recall to me.”  
“Hermione is trying to explain something to me; something to do with transfiguration,” he said slowly, “I’m in the hospital Wing as I’ve come down with some disease. I don’t feel well, so I’m not paying as much attention as Hermione would’ve liked so she huffs and orders me to read a book about the subject.”  
  
He turns back to the matron only to blink in surprise at the odd look on her face.  
“Is there something wrong with that memory?” he asked worriedly as he nervously wrung the sheets between his hands.  
Her face clears and she smiles at him, “there is nothing wrong with the memory. It’s just… I need to speak with the headmaster for a bit. Try to get some rest, I’ll be back in a couple of minutes!”  
She bustled off hurriedly and even he, in his confused state, could realise that whatever was wrong _had_ to do with the memory he just told her.   
  
His head started to hurt as he tried to recall just _why_ something should be wrong with the memory he had told her and in the end he was forced to give up as the pain stopped every attempt at thinking clearly.  
In the end he decided to take Madam Pomfrey’s advice and laid back down on bed to get some rest.  
  
**oOo**  
  
When he woke up again it was to soft murmurs, the smell of food and muted lights. His head hurt somewhat fiercely and there was a rather disgusting taste in his mouth which truly made him want to brush his teeth. For some reason that _too_ felt familiar for still unknown reasons.

He opened his eyes slowly – he really didn’t want his head to hurt even more than it already did – but the lights were muted enough that it didn’t hurt his eyes. He was once again greeted by the same white ceiling, though the dusk had turned it slightly greyish.

He gingerly sat up and the voices around him died down. He was happy to see that the voices belonged to both of his best friends, the headmaster, his head of House and Madam Pomfrey because for some reason – barring Madam Pomfrey as he had seen her earlier that day – he had the feeling that he hadn’t seen them in a very long time. Which he felt was odd, as he had only seen them a couple of hours before, hadn’t he?

“Oh thank Merlin,” Hermione breathed as soon as he had fully sat up until he was once resting against the pillow, “you’re alright. We were so worried for you when Snape took you! We couldn’t find you anywhere!”  
He blinked in confusion, “what do you mean ‘Snape took me’? And what do you mean ‘you couldn’t find me’? I was here all the time!?”  
The last remark came out more as a question than as the statement he had intended it to be.

Dumbledore stepped forward and his attention turned towards him.  
“What is the last date you remember?” Dumbledore asked him gently.   
“I think it was November?” he said after a couple of seconds, “Yes, I think it was the end of November or somewhere at the beginning of December. Why?”  
“It’s October now,” Dumbledore said softly.

Harry gaped him, honest to God gaped at him not unlike a fish but the seriousness of the situation became clear when neither of his friends laughed at him.  
“Ho-, whe-,” he sputtered after a couple of what felt like _hours_ , before he finally managed to explain shrilly, “October?”  
“Yes,” Madam Pomfrey said shortly as she handed him a bottle, “drink that. And eat something.”  
He did as she told him and almost immediately felt himself calm down. She took the bottle from his now relaxed grip and handed him a bowl with what appeared to be rice and red meat in tomato sauce. He thanked her with a nod before he took a bite.

“What happened?” he asked almost desperately as soon as he had swallowed his food. One didn’t want to anger the head matron after all.  
“We hoped that you could tell us,” Dumbledore told him with a sigh as he drew his wand, conjured a couple of comfortable looking chairs and sat down. The others followed his example.

“As you might remember: you were sick and that sickness only became worse with time,” Dumbledore started slowly, “we tried everything we could do to help you get better but nothing worked. In February last year – so about a year ago – Severus came to me to tell me that he had found something that would cure you. We were desperate so I let him take you away. Neither of you came back and not one of the spells, potions or animals we tried could find either of you. We suspect that Severus took you to Voldemort.”  
The others flinched at the use of the name.

“If he took me to Voldemort,” Harry said slowly, “why am I alive and no longer sick?”  
“We don’t know,” Madam Pomfrey said through pursed lips, “there are no foreign substances inside of you nor are there any spells, charms or wards around you.”  
She shared a quick look with the headmaster.

“There are a couple of things that shouldn’t be there, however,” she stated carefully. He blinked at her, too calm and too stomped by the news to truly become once again either panicky or confused.  
“You have managed to gain both a locket and a collar,” Dumbledore told him. He looked down in surprise only to notice the shape of a locket underneath the thin pyjama jacket he was wearing. He took a hold of the chain and removed it from underneath the jacket. The locket was familiar. He _knew_ it. He knew that shape and the colours and he knew that it would _do something_ but he couldn’t for the life of him remember where he had gotten it and why. He released the locket as soon as he was finished studying it and his hands flew to his neck only to come in contact with skin warm metal. He tugged lightly at it but it wouldn’t move at all. Twisting it around didn’t work either so he removed his hands and dropped them onto his lap.

“We can’t take either of them off. Neither of them seem to be hurtful towards you but we do not know what will happen if they stay on you,” Dumbledore continued as if nothing had happened, “can you take them off?”

“The collar will not budge,” he stated without even trying. His attempt before had showed that much. His hand once again moved towards the locket and he tugged at it but the chain refused to break. He tried to move it over his head but the chain wouldn’t even move beyond the line where his hair started.  
The potion didn’t let him panic fully, but slight panic could still be felt as he tucked uselessly on the chain.

“It won’t-,” he started because he _knew_ that the locket could do something to him that he _wouldn’t_ like, “I can’t remove it.”  
“Don’t force it,” Madam Pomfrey stated soothingly, “they will not harm you as far as we know.”  
Normally, that would have calmed him but the fact that he somehow _knew_ that something would happen to him if he kept wearing it made him sceptical. He gave one last useless tug at the chain before he released it.

“How did I get away from Voldemort?” he asked, easily ignoring the flinch the name caused.  
“The Order found you,” Dumbledore said with a soft twinkle in his eyes, “we had been looking for you for quite some time and we finally stumbled upon you in the latest mansion we managed to infiltrate.”  
“The Order found me?” he asked curiously, “where was I? Is everyone alright? No one got hurt?”  
“We don’t actually know,” Hermione said before the others could respond, “someone cast a highly fascinating ward around the building which-”

A pointed clearing of his throat from Ron followed by a fond look made her close her mouth halfway into her sentence and blush bright red.  
“As miss Granger said, the location is not known to us,” Dumbledore stated almost amused, “the wards around the mansion act similar to the Fidelius Charm in that we can neither remember where it is, nor can we tell anyone. The only reason we managed to enter it was because young William noticed an odd feature in the wards around the Nott manor.”

“Did anyone get hurt?” he repeated slowly as soon as he had digested the information given to him.  
The people around his bed exchanged looks.  
“Tonks got badly concussed, but she’s on the mend,” Ron started, “and Vance and Kingsley both needed to spend a couple of days in Saint Mungo’s.”  
“And that’s it?” He asked surprised, “no one else got hurt?”

“Well,” Ron murmured awkwardly, “Remus got bitten by one of the reptiles V-Vo- _You-Know-Who_ likes so much. The anti-poison managed to stop the poison from killing him but the stupid creature gave him something called seb-, sep-, sepsis? So he lost part of his right underarm. And both Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones go killed.”  
“Bill got hurt as well,” Hermione took over, “one of the wards exploded. He gained some rather nasty burn wounds but he should be alright in a couple of weeks.”

“I- I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t-”  
“By Merlin, it’s not _your_ fault,” Hermione snapped, “you didn’t ask to get sick and you didn’t ask to get kidnapped. Therefore it is _not_ your fault.”

“She is quite right,” Dumbledore stated firmly, “now, onto other matters: as you appear to be fine it might be best to see where you are in your education so you can once again attend the classes. However, due to the fact that you nearly missed the entire year you’ll probably be placed in the sixth year and not in the seventh year as you should have been.”  
He nodded, glad for the change in subject.

“We will start the tests tomorrow,” he stated with the twinkle in his eyes at full strength, “I suggest you finish your dinner and get some rest afterwards, it has been a rather trying day after all. Minerva will come and pick you up in the morning. Good night.”  
His Head of House – whom he had completely forgotten was present – nodded at him curtly before both she and the headmaster left the Hospital Wing.

“We probably need to leave as well,” Hermione said apologetic, “we were assigned homework for tomorrow and the only reason we were allowed to be here was because I promised we would hand it in like just everyone else.”  
“But Hermione-,” Ron started to complain.  
“No Ronald,” Hermione snapped, “we can visit Harry tomorrow _after_ the small amount of classes we have. Not only would we have more time, but Harry would have had the time to process what he had heard today.”

Ron shot a pleading look towards him and he was half tempted to ask them to stay. But he knew that it would be selfish of him to ask them to stay while it was a) their last year and they needed to hand in the homework if they wanted to gain their NEWTs and b) they would visit him again the next day.  
Besides, Hermione _had_ a point. He needed to process what he had been told and he needed to deal with the fact that something appeared to be wrong with his memory.

“I’d like that,” he just said with a smile. Hermione smiled back brightly as Ron shot him a betrayed look.   
Hermione rose from where she had been sitting, walked towards his bed and drew him into a hug.  
“I’m glad you’re back with us,” she said softly even as she tightened her hug, “I’ve – _we’ve_ – missed you.”  
“Thanks,” he stated somewhat breathlessly, “and I probably missed you guys too.”  
She released him but her hands stayed on his shoulders.  
“We’ll see you after we’ve finished our classes and you’ve done your tests,” she said as she finally removed her hands, “remember to preform t the best of your abilities!”  
“Yes, mum!” he stated wryly. She nodded with satisfaction before she moved away.

Ron – who had arisen from his own seat sometimes during the short period of time Hermione had him in a hug – briefly placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly.  
“It’s good to have you back,” he stated gruffly, before he too took his leave.

He watched the two of them leave together and he felt a sharp pain move through his heart. He had truly missed them during the time he had – apparently – been in Voldemort’s safekeeping.  
Something suddenly occurred to him.

“Hermione,” he called out just before they had truly left the Hospital Wing. They turned back around.  
“Do you know what happened to my wand?” he asked.  
They shared a look and it was clear they hadn’t even considered the location of his wand.  
“It wasn’t on you when you were brought in,” she said hesitantly, “I’m sure Professor McGonagall would know.”  
“I’ll ask her tomorrow,” he said before he shot her a grateful smile, “good night!”  
“Night,” he was told before they truly left.

He didn’t sleep well that night, the lack of memories and the confusion caused by the fact that he had been in Voldemort’s lair but still alive and healthy kept him awake.  
He finally fell asleep as the first birds started to sing their songs and the darkness of the night started to fade into a new day.

**oOo**

Like he had told Hermione the night before, he had asked his Head of House if she knew where his wand was the moment she had told him briskly to come with her.  
“It wasn’t found in the building we found you in,” she had answered, “we suspect that You-Know-Who has either destroyed it or kept it somewhere else.”  
He had mourned briefly for the loss of his wand before he had followed after McGonagall whom had led him towards an empty, mostly unused classroom where he had been handed a unused wand. Quite a few teachers had been present – including the new potion master Horace Slughorn – and one by one they had tested his knowledge to see at what level he was.

His tests had – surprisingly – shown that he was nearly on the same level as the rest of the seventh years. The teachers had all been pleasantly surprised as that meant that he could just join his classmates as long as he worked to catch up with them. They estimated that if he were to work one day a week on extra assignments he would be on the same level of education by the end of November.

But it all just left him feeling empty. Because for some reason, someone had taken the time to educate him while he was in captivity. He couldn’t remember whom it had been and why. The only thing he could remember were the brief flashes of a comfortable couch and a smooth baritone softly explaining something to him.

He was told just before he was shooed back towards the Hospital Wing that he was to join his friends and classmates in their classes after the weekend.  
He softly murmured his agreement before he left to join Hermione and Ron so they could catch him up to speed on the rumours and happenings he had missed in the 8 months he had apparently been absent.

**oOo**

He noticed that he started to get sick again about three weeks after he had once again started to attend the classes. As the teachers had expected, he had easily followed what had been explained and he was both theoretically and practically on the same level as his classmates.

The first couple of days, he managed to ignore the fact that he was sneezing, coughing and sniffing. But by the time November turned into December he was plagued by headaches and nausea on top of the cold he had acquired.

He had already been sent to the Hospital Wing by both Hermione and concerned teachers but Madam Pomfrey had just handed him some Pepper-up potions, had told him to come back to her next week or when he started to feel worse and had sent him to the Great Hall to eat lunch.

It spiralled downwards rather quickly after that and by the time the Christmas break had started he was once again laid out on a bed incapable of doing anything but feeling completely miserable.  
He couldn’t concentrate due to the headache and a nearly dangerously high fever, he couldn’t eat courtesy of the nausea and the fact that he threw up every single time he managed to eat something and he had trouble breathing due to a blocked up nose.

But still he fought against the being that he _knew_ tried to take over from him. He had no idea how he knew that nor did he know where the being came from – though he had his theory about that – all he knew was that he wouldn’t like the consequences if the being did win.  
So he kept on fighting, even though he grew weaker with every passing day.  
It was the least he could do after his friends and allies had risked their lives while rescuing him from Voldemort’s lair.

**oOo**

He managed to keep fighting up until Boxing Day; though he had long since given up on trying to notice the difference between night and day, let alone trying to remember which day it was or what the date was. The lack of adequate nutrition and liquids – he had been put on some magical version of IV some time ago – combined with the disease made him weak while the being stayed as strong as it had been the first time he had felt it.

His strength to keep it back gave way and the last thing he felt before everything fell away around him was the victorious feeling the being emitted as it finally possessed him.

**oOoOoOo**

No one was around to see the formerly closed eyes suddenly snapping open, nor was anyone there to see the formerly prone and unmoving body sitting up just as sudden. If they had been, they would have seen that the body was sick and tired and too weak to be capable of moving if it hadn’t been for the magic inside of the skeletal and sickly body.

Only no one was there to see the body gently lowering itself on its feet and no one was there to stop him from moving away from the bed and towards the small side room containing a shower.  
And no one was there to see the glowing, sadistic red eyes that gleamed triumphantly out of a gaunt, pale and drawn face.

But, most important of all: no one was there to see the small, sickly body with the now hellish red eyes leave the Hospital Wing through the windows nor was anyone there to see the black smoke moving away from the castle at a high speed.

The only evidence that there had ever been a single, sick boy present in the Hospital Wing was the rumpled sheet laying oddly on the white bed.

Harry Potter had, once again, disappeared.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none for this chapter.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own the rights.

**Epilogue**

It had been a year since they had last seen their best friend.

He had disappeared suddenly on Boxing Day, just two months after they had rescued him. He had been incredibly sick – bordering deadly sick – and there was no possibility of him having walked out on his own. The Order of the Phoenix had been called together the moment Madam Pomfrey had raised the alarm and had informed Dumbledore of the mysterious disappearance. But by the time they were sure that he was no longer in Hogwarts or its direct surroundings, it had been too late.

Harry Potter – and most of his personal belongings – had once again disappeared of the face of the earth.

**oOo**

It had been just after they had graduated and just before they had been initiated into the Order of the Phoenix – and after they had promised not to interrupt – that they had finally been told how Harry had been found.

_“As you know, we entered the building in hopes of finding young mister Potter,” Dumbledore had started, “and you know we brought him back seemingly unharmed. It’s time you heard just how we found him.”_  
He had removed his glasses and he had massaged the bridge of his nose before he had continued.  
“We had to break through several wards, one of which exploded outward and hurt Bill,” he had stated tiredly, “luckily for us, that had been the last ward before we found ourselves face to face with Voldemort, some of his Death Eaters and two large reptiles; one large snake by the name of Nagini and one unknown komodo dragon.”

_They shared glances, they had – of course – heard of Nagini but no one had ever mentioned a komodo dragon._  
“It became clear during the fight – or as much as anything can become clear in the sheer chaos a fight like that becomes – that every Death Eater fiercely defended both reptiles,” he had continued, “Nagini defended herself rather savagely until a spell fired by Hestia finally hit the side of her head. Voldemort killed Hestia without a second thought before he ordered one of his Death Eaters to grab the snake, to disappear until he called for him and to keep the snake alive. That was both a good and a bad thing.”  
A single tear had made its way over his cheek and into his beard as he told them what happened.

_“The other reptile hadn’t moved at all up until then,” he had said softly, “and even then it only moved to shake the blood that had landed on it when Hestia had been killed away. It seemed oddly torn for such a beast. The battle continued, as battles are wont to do, and I lost sight of the lizard as Voldemort drew me away from the creature.”  
He had once again rubbed the bridge of his nose as if to steel his nerves._

_“It only attacked once,” he had stated wryly, “Remus told me that he came too close and nearly hit the large komodo dragon. He must have startled it because, guided by instincts, it bit him in his arm. He lost that arm, as you know.”  
“The pain-filled cry Remus emitted caused a pause in the fighting and I managed to send the first spell that came to mind towards the creature that caused it to slam into one of the walls,” he had told them, “had the circumstances been different or had I thought before I had acted, I wouldn’t have used that particular spell as it’s an experimental spell I created decades ago that has no particular function except to cause someone similar to partial amnesia. It shouldn’t have worked on the komodo dragon, but it did. I created it with a specific person in mind but I’d never used it before. Until that moment.” _

_He had looked truly miserable at that point, and more tears had made their way into his beard.  
“the very weight of the creature caused the wall to shake and – combined with the falling wards and the multitude of spells that hit the walls and ceiling – both the walls and the ceiling started to collapse. The fight was, essentially, over.”_

_“Voldemort and his followers quickly disappeared but only after blasting Tonks against the wall and killing poor Dedalus. The komodo dragon was left behind,” Dumbledore had stated with a dry chuckle, “I felt – and still feel – sorry for the poor fellow who had been responsible for the creature.”_

_“That was Harry, wasn’t it,” Hermione had asked faintly, her face was pale and her eyes were wide in terror._  
“Yes, it was,” he had admitted, “we discovered that as we studied it.”  
“Or at least,” he had amended, “Moody wanted to kill the creature but I managed to stop him because I wanted to know something. Something about the creature was off, it was too intelligent and it wasn’t completely driven by its instincts. If it had, it would have attacked us not unlike Nagini had done.”

_His eyes had turned sad._  
“I cast the Animagus Revealing charm on it,” he had said softly, “as you can imagine, it was a rather nasty surprise when the komodo dragon turned into the very boy we had been looking for. The collar stayed, as you know, and we were afraid that Voldemort was somehow possessing young Harry.”  
Another tear fell.  
“I was beyond happy to hear that he had no memories of his time with Voldemort,” he had admitted as he closed his eyes, “that he couldn’t remember what had been done to him. It was the one and only reason why I was happy that I had cast that particular spell that had done more than just slamming him harshly against the wall.”

Neither of them had been able to sleep that night as they imagined their best friend forced into the mindless form of a large creature. They couldn’t even begin to imagine how he had been treated or how he had felt.

**oOo**

They had heard more stories about Harry the Komodo Dragon after that. A captured Death Eater had told them how the beast liked to scare the Death Eaters kneeling before their Lord by snapping sharp teeth at them or bowling them over with a lazy sweep of his tail and how the Dark Lord seemed to find his antics amusing.

Another Death Eater told them how You-Know-Who seemed to keep the large reptile close to him and how he seemed to shower the muggle version of a dragon with affection. Apparently, Harry was both handfed and utterly spoiled when he was in that form. Something they believed he deserved more than anyone they knew, but it just hurt that it was the very person whom had killed his parents and whom had wanted to kill him for over a decade that gave him what he deserved most. Or more, it hurt to know that Harry accepted it without fighting against the attention.

Surprisingly, Harry wasn’t forced to fight against, to bite or to torture people. But no Death Eater ever mentioned his human form and every account of the komodo dragon turned Dumbledore’s face into a sad and aged version of the strong and assertive leader they knew.

Their best friend had, to all intents and purposes, been turned into nothing more than a beloved and spoiled pet.

**oOo**

The both of them had been kidnapped from the apartment they rented together the day before Christmas. The Death Eater that had taken them had babbled loudly about them being a gift for his Lord. It had _terrified_ them.

They were presented to You-Know-Who on Boxing Day, the same day Harry had disappeared on a year ago. The irony hadn’t gone unnoticed.  
The Death Eater that had captured them proudly dragged them into the large but mostly silent room filled with people dressed in heavy black robes and masks adorning faces. Their leader sat at the other end of the room and their eyes were immediately drawn towards him.

He too was dressed in heavy black robes but unlike the Death Eaters, his face was unmasked. They wished it was, because worse than any mask they could imagine. His eyes were red, slit like a snake and cruel. His face was pasty white, waxy and inhuman. His hands were just as white as his face and the bones were clearly visible underneath the skin. His nails were elongated into near claws and the nails were yellowish. One of the hands was resting in his lap and held the bone-white wand. The other hand, however, was bent oddly over the armrest.

They only noticed the large reptile he was petting with said hand as they were forced to move closer towards him. It was a large, brownish-black komodo dragon which had its head resting heavily against the dark lord’s leg and the rest of its body on a large, thick, dark blue, durable pillow. The yellow eyes shone brightly in the light of the torches and its tails thumbed loudly against the chair in pleasure as You-Know-Who scratched the creature lazily on its head. The only noise that filled the room beside the rhythmic thumbs of its tail was the soft purr-like growls of pleasure that escaped the large reptile as it was scratched between the eyes.

They recognized the creature from the memory Albus had shown them. It seemed slightly bigger now, its collar gleamed menacingly in the light, its claws were slightly more pointy and its teeth were disgustingly dirty but they recognized him all the same. They would probably recognize him even if he had been accompanied by multiple komodo dragons.

It seemed as if they had finally found their best friend, but it didn’t seem as if he needed rescuing. He appeared healthy, well taken care off and more happy and content than they had known him to be before he had been kidnapped. It was also rather clear that he wasn’t about to kill You-Know-Who anytime soon.

Voldemort had won.

_“There are two possibilities,”_ they remembered Albus telling them, _“the first one is that Harry was forced to return to Voldemort. Either by some magical means or by physical means. I sincerely doubt the second one as we have no trace of anyone entering the Hospital Wing except for the who are allowed to.”_

_“And the second possibility?”_   Molly had asked.  
_“Ah ,yes. The second possibility,”_ Albus had said with a sigh, _“Have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?”_


End file.
